


The Detective and the Tech Guy

by dettiot, SteampunkChuckster



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Homage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteampunkChuckster/pseuds/SteampunkChuckster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies, co-written by SteampunkChuckster and dettiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Detective and the Tech Guy Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note 1: Interesting how seeing a graphic on tumblr can turn into a big, whopping story idea. And then you share the big, whopping story idea with your friend and writing buddy. And then writing buddy becomes writing PARTNER. Between the two of us, ideas started sprouting into a legitimate plot, and we began chatting in caps we were so excited. It's always scary, deciding to cowrite a fic with another writer whose writing style is so different from yours. One thing I know we share for sure: a deep and impenetrable love for these characters. This has been a BLAST. Couldn't ask for a better cowriter. Our constant brain meld throughout this process was actually a little creepy, to be honest. I can't even begin to express how much fun I had working on this with dettiot. So it is my hope that you lovelies enjoy the story as well!  
> Author's Note 2: dettiot here! I was so so so thrilled when SteampunkChuckster told me about her idea to recreate The Thin Man as a crossover with Chuck. Because it was such an awesome idea, and I was even more thrilled when she let me come play in the sandbox, too. Writing this story together has been a blast and we're so excited to bring it off Tumblr and into the big wide Chuck fanfic world! I've had so many great moments with SteampunkChuckster along the way, times when we started reading each other's minds and everything clicked into place. No one does comedy with heart better than SteampunkChuckster, and I think you're all in for a great ride, if I do say so myself. And I do, because I know what happens next. :-) So settle in with a martini, put on some jazz and enjoy The Detective and the Tech Guy!

TRANSCRIPT OF FIRST CLIENT MEETING

PARTICIPANTS: Sarah Walker (SW), Pinkerton Detective; Stephen Bartowski (SB), client; Charles Bartowski (CB), client.

SW: Sarah Walker, meeting with Stephen and Charles Bartowski on May 20. This first client meeting is recorded according to Pinkerton policy. Both clients have been advised of this recording.

(pause)

SW: Good afternoon, gentlemen. The Pinkerton Agency is very intrigued by this case and I'm glad to be here, to help in any way I can.

CB: (haltingly) Thank you for coming on such short notice…Miss Walker? Agent Walker?

SW: Detective Walker when we're discussing the case in private, Sarah when in public. It would be for the best if my affiliation with Pinkerton is kept quiet.

CB: Yes, of course. That makes sense. (pauses) Uh…

SB: So what's the protocol here, Detective? What do we do? Tell you what happened or…?

SW: (briskly) Prior to accepting this case, we researched this situation thoroughly. Due to the murder of Robert Gerheart and Charles Bartowski's request for Pinkerton assistance, we evaluated the case constructed by the LAPD and found it … lacking.

(sound of something hitting the table)

SW: We've compiled dossiers on both of you as well as Bartowski Electronics Corporation, although I would like to ask you each a few questions to clear up some questions I have.

CB: (sound of clothing rustling) Yes. Yes, of course. Ask away, Detective.

SW: Okay. As I understand it, LAPD feels that Mr. Gerheart was the victim of mistaken identity. That the killer thought he was killing Stephen Bartowski. I've seen the pictures and there is a resemblance. The police has identified a disgruntled ex-employee of Bartowski Electronics as the killer. So why call in Pinkerton, Stephen? And please excuse my informality; we would be here all day if I called you both Mr. Bartowski.

SB: I'm afraid you'll have to ask my son here that question. I was perfectly satisfied with the LAPD's conclusion.

CB: Frankly, if you don't mind me jumping in here, I thought the LAPD was pretty quick to accept the solution Andrew Sallis' suicide note gave them. They didn't ask questions or look into the guy's situation. They found him dead, found the note, and that was it. Case closed. I'm not satisfied my father's life isn't still in danger—

SB: Charles, the man was nuts. I know. He worked for me. He confessed to killing Bob in his suicide note.

CB: Have you watched television, Dad? It's so easy to fake a suicide. Scribble a confession on a piece of paper in the guy's handwriting and you're done.

(sound of a heavy sigh)

SW: Gentlemen. It is the opinion of the Pinkerton Agency that Charles is correct—that the convenient confession and quote-unquote suicide of your former employee is something that should be investigated further. Especially in light of the death threat received last week by you, Stephen.

CB: See?

SB: That was nothing. I receive letters with threats all the time. They're screened by my assistant and thrown away.

CB: Dad, this was different. They called you on the phone. On your personal cell. And then Mr. Gerheart ended up dead on our doorstep.

SW: The change in communication method is concerning. Thus why I'm here. I have three assistants who will be coordinating with me on improving the security within your offices and homes; we will also be guarding Stephen as you go about your daily business.

SB: Are the bodyguards really necessary, Detective—

CB: (interrupts) Thank you, Detective Walker. But the threat was only meant for my dad. I mean, I really don't think I'm in any danger…

SW: You are widely considered your father's heir, Charles. Someday, you will be the CEO of Bartowski Electronics Corporation. We must ensure your safety as well, although of course you won't be under bodyguard protection since no threats have been directed towards you personally. And Stephen, I'm afraid that yes, the bodyguards are necessary. We won't interfere with your life. If you'd rather hire private guards instead of use my people, or rely on whatever security you have here, that's your choice. But I'm afraid I must insist on the bodyguards for you.

(sound of silence except for a soft rustle of clothing)

SB: If you insist.

CB: He'll use your people, if that's alright.

SB: Charles… (sigh)

SW: (quietly) I know this is a difficult situation. A scary one. But if we don't act proactively, this could become very dangerous for you, Stephen. A situation that could leave your family wishing they had gotten more time with you.

SB: I understand my son's concern, don't get me wrong. And I will comply with his wishes. I just want to state for the record that I think this will turn out to be a complete overreaction.

CB: And I want to state for the record that I don't care if I'm overreacting. Like Detective Walker said, I'd rather err on the side of you living to enjoy your retirement. I think Mom and Ellie would agree.

SW: Believe me, we'd rather that it does turn out to be an overreaction. But until we know who really killed Robert Gerheart, you're under the protection of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

SB: Of course. Thank you, Detective. Let's hope you clear this mess up soon.

CB: Yes. Thank you, Detective Walker.

SW: To start with, my assistants will begin working with your security people here to beef up your procedures. They're waiting in your office, Stephen.

SB: Right. Of course. I'll go meet with them now then…If that's all, Detective?

SW: Yes, Mr. Bartowski. (sound of a chair moving) I hope we'll be out of your hair soon.

(Another chair moves)

SB: I hope so, too. Thank you.

(Sound of footsteps and the opening and closing of a door)

(Sound of chairs moving)

SW: Thank you for helping me convince your father. He seems quite stubborn.

CB: (snorts) You should meet my mother. (pause) On second thought, you probably shouldn't.

SW: (soft chuckle) I'll keep that in mind if we need to expand protection.

CB: Do. And-And my dad? He doesn't mean to be, er, less than polite. I think he assumes what happened to Mr. Gerheart won't happen to him. But it can, and if he isn't careful, it will. He'll get used to it… (unsure) I'm sure.

SW: I take my job very seriously. More seriously than most of my clients. And I'm very good at it, if I do say so. Your father is in good hands.

CB: I don't doubt it at all, Detective Walker. And you should know that I'm grateful to Pinkerton for sending one of their best and most serious. I mean…their best. I'm sure you're one of the best. Because you're so…serious. (voice fizzles out)

SW: (amused) Now I know why you're living in a bachelor pad, if this is an example of your technique.

CB: (aghast) Hey! Is insulting your clientele part of the Pinkerton protocol? Because I feel like I should file a complaint, maybe. 'Detective did not display satisfactory level of sensitivity towards client's social inadequacies and general awkwardness'.

SW: You consider yourself inadequate and awkward? Funny, there's no evidence of that in your dossier. You're a good actor, Mr. Bartowski.

CB: Well, I was a hell of a Perchik in Fiddler on the Roof in high school. So they said. At the time.

(sound of papers rustling)

SW: Yes, your high school paper's review of the production was quite complimentary towards your performance.

(sound of a chair squeaking)

CB: Y-You have—That's in there? Really? Wow, that's pretty impressive. It doesn't have my first crush in there or anything, does it? Because Kindergarten was kind of an embarrassing time for me.

SW: Wouldn't you like to know. (pause) (sound of a throat being cleared) We should discuss when I can visit your residence and evaluate its security. Is tomorrow morning good for you?

CB: Uh, sure. Yeah. Well, uh—I work. I mean, I'll be heading in to work tomorrow. I leave in the morning.

SW: (crisply) What time?

CB: I like to get in by nine, usually.

SW: I'll meet you at your apartment at eight a.m.

CB: Oh. Okay.

(sounds of papers rustling)

SW: Until tomorrow, Mr. Bartowski. You should probably go to your office; my assistants will be visiting you there once they're done in your father's office.

CB: Right. I'll go straight there. (sound of a chair moving) Detective Walker. (pause) I-It's been a pleasure.

(sound of another chair moving)

SW: Good afternoon, Mr. Bartowski.

CB: Good afternoon. (pause) Uh, Detective?

SW: Yes, Mr. Bartowski?

CB: Thank you. Very much.

(pause)

SW: You're welcome.

(sound of a throat clearing)

CB: 'Til tomorrow, then.

(sound of a door opening and closing)

SW: End recording.


	2. The Detective in the Tech Guy's Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business--but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they’d send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by SteampunkChuckster and dettiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note 1: So, wow. I’m not sure either of us was expecting the awesome response we got from our intro chapter. Not that I’m unaware of dettiot’s expansive readership. And the fact that a Chuckster who sees her name attached to something can trust one hundred percent of the time that it is going to be a good read. All that aside, I was still super excited. Thank you so much, you guys! For the reviews, tweets, tumblr notes, reblogs, etc. I hope you keep reading and I hope you keep enjoying, because it’s just going to get better from here on out!

An emphatic pounding on his door made Chuck hurry from his bedroom, curious about who was knocking on his door at just past seven in the morning. Normally no one ever knocked on his door at this hour of the morning, but that was before his father had started receiving death threats and was nearly killed himself. Before Sarah Walker had come into his life and made plans with him for an eight o’clock meeting. 

But it might not be her, after all. Whoever this guest was, they’d have to deal with seeing him in a robe with wet hair.  
He opened the door and boggled. Looking pressed and polished in a black pinstriped suit, Sarah Walker was standing on his doorstep with a to-go cup of coffee and an annoyed expression. 

"You’re early," he croaked.

"Please tell me you checked through the peephole before you opened the door," she said, her heels letting her look him in the eye. 

"Umm …" Chuck said, wishing he had gone faster on his run and finished his shower earlier so he could be dressed for this conversation.

Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed past him. ”Mr. Bartowski, my job is to keep you and your father safe from the person who’s already killed Bob Gerheart and wants to kill your father. But if you don’t watch out for yourself, it won’t matter how much I watch you.” 

Chuck swallowed. He knew his father was much more worried about Chuck’s safety than his own; it had taken a lot of arguing on Chuck’s part to make Stephen Bartowski agree to contact the Pinkerton Agency. But for some reason, his father thought Chuck was in more danger. 

But being around a beautiful woman who made his knees turn to water … 

He rolled his shoulders. ”Well, then, make yourself at home while I get dressed.” 

"Nope," she said, taking a long swallow from her coffee. "Show me your closet." 

For some reason, the absurdity of her request made Chuck grin. ”Curious about whether it’s boxers or briefs, Ms. Walker? Or just want to see where I sleep?” 

Her glare could melt the polar icecaps. ”I need to survey your entire apartment and evaluate any security gaps.” 

"So the assassin is hiding in my closet? Got it," Chuck said, heading for the stairs that wound up to his second-floor master suite. He could hear her heels clattering on the rare exotic hardwoods that floored the entire apartment, except for the ultra-thick carpeting in his bedroom. 

He had bought this apartment for a song four years ago, right after he had graduated from Stanford. With some elbow grease and a lot of money, he had turned it into the perfect home for himself: big windows to let in light but with special refractive glass to eliminate heat; a rooftop deck with a few solar panels; and a large master bedroom and attached bathroom that contained a steam shower. 

But even more important than how it looked was what it held: all his computers, his video game consoles, and the mementos of his life. And while he had plenty of friends come over and visit him on the first floor, he wasn’t used to having someone else in his bedroom. Not lately, anyway. 

Once he had stepped into his bedroom, Chuck opened the door to his closet and started rummaging through his suits. He glanced over his shoulder at Sarah Walker, whose eyes were sweeping around the room. ”Well, Detective? Do you approve of my decorating?”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. ”I wouldn’t have pegged you as a modern guy, myself. Mid-Century Modern, maybe.” 

"Everyone does Mid-Century Modern now," Chuck said, picking a navy blue suit in a lightweight wool. "It’s overdone."

He set aside the suit and hunted for a clean shirt, noticing how Sarah kept looking around the room. She sipped her coffee, looking lost in thought. And extremely hot. 

When she stepped up beside him as he vacillated between white and pale blue shirts, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He had a hot woman in his closet. Although the fact that she was here to protect his life and wasn’t there for any other reason definitely mellowed the tingle he felt. 

At least, it should have. 

Finally picking the white shirt, he grabbed his Chucks. ”Anything else you want to see?” he asked, his hand resting on the knot holding his robe closed. ”Because I’m ready to get dressed, and usually I don’t give people a show unless they’ve bought me dinner first.” 

"Very funny, Mr. Bartowski," Sarah said, her voice cool and her eyebrows raised. "You should take this more seriously." 

Chuck folded his arms over his chest. ”Do you really think that? Or are you just toeing the company line?” 

"Do I think there’s a real threat here?" she asked, waiting for his nod before replying. "Yes, I do. One of your father’s major competitors has been killed—a man who resembles your father. Someone that your father was ready to bury the hatchet with. Coupled with the threatening letters …" She gave an elegant shrug. "Death threats aren’t to be joked around with." 

Ever since yesterday’s meeting, when Sarah Walker and the other Pinkerton staff had made their presentation about protecting Stephen Bartowski, Chuck had tried to laugh it all off. To act like this couldn’t be happening. But if she thought it was serious … 

He took a deep breath. ”Okay, then. If you don’t mind, I would like to get dressed in private. I can meet you downstairs afterwards and then I can take you through the apartment, let you see everything.”

She looked at him, then nodded. ”All right.” She walked towards the door and Chuck turned towards the clothes he had laid out on the bed. He unknotted his robe and doffed it, tossing it onto the bed and leaving him in his boxer briefs. 

"Oh, and Chuck?" 

It was all he could not to yelp and cover himself. He turned towards the door, doing his best to stay calm and cool. ”Y-yes?”

There was a devilish grin on Sarah’s face. ”Wear the blue shirt.” She might have winked at him before she turned and left him alone. Chuck wasn’t sure; everything was a blur beyond _hot woman saw me in my underwear hot woman saw me in my underwear hot woman saw me in my underwear_.

XOXOXO

Chuck Bartowski might be one of the more confusing men she had ever encountered in her work as a Pinkerton agent. He tried to act all glib and confident, charm oozing out of every pore. But then he’d drop it enough to let her see another side: sensitive, worried about his father, quirky. 

Not that it mattered that much what she thought of him. She would protect his life because it was her job. The fact that she found him easy on the eyes and a witty conversationalist just made the job better for her. 

After a few moments, he came down the stairs. Sarah noticed with approval that he had listened to her and gone with the blue shirt under his navy blue suit. ”What, no hat?” she asked, drinking the last of her coffee.

"Nah, I don’t like hats," Chuck said breezily. "And they’re overdone, too. Breakfast?"

"I’ve already eaten," Sarah said. "And you need to give me the tour before I drive you to work." 

"Nope." 

"Excuse me, but nope?" Sarah repeated, following him into a kitchen of gleaming stainless steel appliances and glistening cobalt-blue glass tiles. 

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I always have something before I drive myself to the office." 

Chuck shot her a glance as he filled a mug with coffee, then gestured towards her paper cup. ”You want a refill?” 

With a sigh, Sarah popped off the lid and held out her cup to him. He did need to eat, after all, and she had allotted plenty of time to allow for the tour of his apartment before he was due to report to work. That was part of the reason for arriving early for the their meeting. The other reason was to see how he handled being thrown a curveball. So far, he had passed with flying colors, which made Sarah willing to cut him a little slack. 

Although she wanted him to switch up his schedule and start arriving at different times, so if the tour made him later than his normal arrival time at Bartowski Electronics, so much the better. 

Taking a sip, she nearly moaned. Clearly, wealth had many advantages—including having the good stuff every day instead of once in a while. And if there was one thing Sarah Walker liked, it was good coffee that someone else had paid for. 

With the movements of someone well-accustomed to what he was doing, Chuck moved around the kitchen, gathering supplies. She took a seat at the center island, watching as he deftly cut up some peppers and part of an onion, using some kind of high-tech gadget so his eyes wouldn’t water. He paused at the refrigerator. ”One egg or two?” 

When she didn’t respond, he glanced over at her. ”You already ate, but if you were still hungry …” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but instead she just held up one finger to him. He grinned widely at her and took three eggs out. 

Rather than keep watching him and feeling her stomach flutter at a well-dressed man making breakfast, Sarah set down her coffee cup and stood up, taking the loaf of bread Chuck had set out and putting a few slices into the toaster. 

Within a few minutes, they had cheesy Western scrambled eggs and toast to go along with the excellent coffee. While Chuck shoveled in his food, Sarah ate slower, her mind cataloging what she needed to do. Get him to work, review the notes she had started on his apartment and determine what alarm system would work best, then meet with her assistants to see what they had learned so far. Then brief Mr. Bartowski and Chuck before driving Chuck back here. 

Nothing too difficult to achieve. She had to admit that with this excellent food, it’d be easier to get through her day. 

"So you cook, huh?" 

Chuck paused, his fork halfway to his lips, before he smirked at her. ”Unless you think there was some six-foot-four elf taking my place and doing the cooking, yes.” 

"Since you’re being overly pedantic, I’ll rephrase," Sarah said. "You cook pretty well." 

"Thanks," Chuck said, shooting her a grin. "I always take a compliment where I can find one." 

Sarah propped her chin on her hand. ”Awww, was someone often overlooked growing up?” 

His eyes sparkled. ”Actually no. I was praised to the skies. But it’s different when it’s not your mother.” 

"Please don’t tell me your mother is the most important woman in your life," Sarah said, injecting a note of disdain into her voice, even though she knew the smile blooming on her face undercut what she was saying. 

Teasing him was fun. It wasn’t often she found someone she could banter with like this. And why was she letting herself be distracted like this? 

Straightening up, Sarah slid off her stool and carried her plate over to the sink. ”Are we ready for that tour?” 

Chuck looked at her, his eyebrow raised, then shrugged. ”Okay. Let me just get the dishes done.” 

To her amazement, he insisted on rinsing all the dishes and sticking them into the dishwasher before escorting her around the apartment. With so much to do, so many details to absorb, Sarah was grateful to have her notebook and pen to take notes. Because it gave her something to focus on, something to keep her mind from wandering back to the line of his shoulders in his suit and the fact that he had gone with the shirt she had told him to wear. 

This was not turning out like she thought it would.

End.


	3. The Detective and the Tech Guy Versus Apache Adventure Bot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love reading Steampunk . Chuckster's take on Chuck. I think she does an amazing job at capturing his niceness, his kindness, and his goofiness. This version of Chuck also has confidence and charisma to spare, something that Steampunk . Chuckster really brings to life in this chapter. Plus, _Apache Adventure Bot_ is just a hoot to imagine. :-)

_Apache Adventure Bot_. 1990. Mint condition.

There were supposedly three copies they found in some boxes in the back of the Burbank Buy More and were going to be put on the main floor to be sold in less than ten minutes. Chuck had less than ten minutes to get to the Buy More or they'd be gone.

According to the text from Norman in the IT department of Bartowski Electronics Corporation, his brother Skip found them by chance and tried to smuggle them out but was caught by the branch manager. Skip was almost fired…but the most important thing was that Chuck had less than ten minutes to get a copy of _Apache Adventure Bot_. The one and only video game that he'd been looking for since he was a kid.

Chuck wrapped up his conversation with his father's PR rep and slammed his office phone into its cradle. "Crap, crap, crap. _Apache Adventure Bot_. Crap!" he muttered to himself, meanwhile leaping over his desk in an attempt to save the time it would take to step around it.

He grabbed his suit jacket and shoved one arm down the sleeve, whipping the door open that led into the hallway outside, rather than the one that led to his outer office. As he stepped into the hallway, his other arm swinging upwards as he shoved it into the other sleeve of the jacket, he heard a squeal and spun to find the source of the strange sound.

"Sar—Agent Detective Walker?!" He left his jacket a little askew in his shock at finding her there and embarrassment because he nearly leveled the beautiful Pinkerton Agent. She was staring at him with wide eyes still.

"I am so so sorry. I didn't see you. I'm on my way to…" To what? Buy a video game from 1990 that featured a pixelated robot that roamed the deserts of a post-apocalyptic world destroying oversized bugs and saving humankind? Would she judge him if he told her the intricate nature of the storyline? What if he told her he'd cried when he was ten because his parents wouldn't buy it for him due to the violent nature of the super bugs?

He reached up to tug the jacket into place and fix the lapel and collar as she continued to watch him with a professional smile.

"In a bit of a rush, Chuck?"

"Y—Yeah. Yes. I'm sorry I almost hit you. I really didn't mean to."

"I hope not. I'm pretty sure I could take you out with my pinky. Even though you kinda got the jump on me." She leaned around him. "What's this?" she asked, gesturing to the door.

"Huh?" He looked over his shoulder. "Oh. My office is in there."

She arched a pretty eyebrow. "I never noticed this door."

"Isn't it your job to notice things like that?" he teased, grinning widely. She just glared, her jaw working. His smile died completely. "Sorry."

Chuck cleared his throat and took in her appearance as subtly as possible. She wore the typical business attire, skirt and white blouse with a matching suit jacket, but she looked anything but typical in it. "So…what brings you here, S—" He almost corrected himself but she interrupted.

"You can call me Sarah. I won't throttle you."

"Ha!" he blurted, sounding a bit like a sea lion, shoving his hands in his pockets and feeling heat rush up from his collar.

She raised both eyebrows and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the business-like air around her continuing. "Uh…I'm leading an investigation to find out why someone wants to hurt your father. And I was hired to protect you. That's why I'm here."

"Touché. Stupid question. As always, you have a very good reason for doing just about everything you do."

She paused, pursing her lips. Then she seemed to snap to attention. "Actually! Maybe you can help me—"

"Anything!" he said quickly. "Of course. Whatever I can do to help."

Sarah looked to be on the verge of laughing as she pulled the file from where it was tucked under her arm, opening it and scanning the page. Then she seemed to rethink the action and snapped it shut again, holding the file at her chest and looking up at him with her lips pursed. "Okay. Chuck. Is anything wrong? You're kind of jumpy."

"This has been a stressful day for me." He gave her a wan smile.

"I can tell. Just…breathe." She stepped closer, and he wondered if she knew how much worse that was making his ability to "breathe".

"Are you my bodyguard _and_ my yoga instructor now?"

"I can be." She gave a bouncy shrug that seemed a little less rigid than the Sarah Walker he'd gotten used to and he rocked back on his heels, finding he was breathing just fine suddenly.

"I might be interested in learning yoga. Do a little bit of that bridge pose in between meetings. Maybe you can teach me. As long as I don't end up in the corpse pose, am I right?" He spread his arms out as though he was saying 'ta da!' and grinned.

"Chuck." She frowned.

"That wasn't funny, was it?"

"Not at all."

"I apologize. Yoga jokes, not funny."

"Corpse jokes, not funny."

"It really is a yoga pose, though. It exists."

"I know that," she smirked. "But, uh…How do you know?" Sarah lifted a dubious eyebrow.

"Google. Duh."

She snorted and shook her head, opening the file again. "So that's what you CEO types do with your free time."

"Among other things." He bounced his eyebrows at her and pursed his lips.

It might have been his imagination, but he saw a hint of a blush on her cheeks as she looked down at the paper. "So, um, there's someone who runs PR at Bartowski Corp, name of Karl Gurgen."

"Good ol' Karl. Just got off the phone with him, actually."

"Right. Well, where's his office?"

"The PR department runs out of a separate location. North Hollywood. Karl does not have an office in our building."

She nodded. "Ohh, that explains so much."

"Like why Karl's not in the building directory?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." He shrugged and pursed his lips. "It's in North Hollywood, the PR department. I can take you. If you want. Because you're probably still getting to know the Los Angeles area. It's a hop skip and a jump, really."

"You don't have to."

"Somebody's gotta guard my body." Chuck let a slow smile cross his face, noticing the way she bit the inside of her cheek. "Might as well be you. You'd probably be more effective against an army of muggers than the big beefy guys you brought with you."

She paused, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline before settling again. "Well, I need to talk to Karl. So if you're coming, we need to get a move on."

"Of course. I'm yours." Chuck politely swept his arm in the direction of the elevator down the hallway.

"Let's go," she smiled and walked at a brisk clip away from him.

When they got to the elevator, he studiously watched the button he'd just pressed instead of looking at the excruciatingly beautiful woman standing at his shoulder. His iPhone suddenly buzzed in his back pocket.

He fished it out just as the elevator door dinged and slid open.

Chuck and Sarah stepped inside and the doors closed again, bringing them to the garage beneath the building.

He read the text from Norman, asking where he was, dude. And informing him that he'd missed out. All three copies were gone.

Chuck realized he should have been a lot more broken up about missing his chance to own a copy of _Apache Adventure Bot_. If he'd just left a minute earlier, he would have missed Sarah Walker and he would have gotten in his car and sped to the Buy More. _Apache Adventure Bot_ would be in his hands right now.

But then…he would have missed Sarah Walker.


	4. The Detective and the Tech Guy Flirt on the Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how sometimes you write a fic because of something you yourself want to read? Like, say, ohhh, I don’t know, the thing that Chuck isn’t wearing in this chapter? Well, it turns out dettiot went ahead and wrote it instead. Which means I get to kick back and read it without doing any of the work. And really enjoy it, because she’s such a great writer. That’s what being a good writing buddy is about. Taking one for the team. She did all the work for us, you guys. And now...I present to you, written by the magnficent dettiot, shirtless Chuck. Erm...I mean...The Detective and the Tech Guy Flirt on the Beach.

As a Pinkerton agent, Sarah Walker had traveled all over the country. She had spent January in Seattle, July in Washington, D.C., March in Boston and September in Texas. Even though she had only been in California a few weeks, she had to admit that California was pretty nice. Especially in late May, basking in a beautiful Southern California sunset.

Outside her corporate housing building was a jogging path to a pier overlooking the beach. In the evenings, she had gotten into the habit of going for a gentle run on the path and along the pier, before pausing to watch the sun set. A chance to let her mind wander, to meditate and find her center once again.

It wasn't like her. To take this kind of time. Especially when she was working. But she couldn't seem to help it. It seemed … necessary.

Sarah rested her arms on the railing of the pier and gazed out, watching the waves roll in to meet the beach. There was something peaceful about this. Something she liked, and—

Was that Chuck?!

Narrowing her eyes, Sarah leaned forward a little. She knew this area wasn't that far from Chuck's place, and she knew he enjoyed running on the beach. But according to her files, he never ran at night. But there he was, wearing shorts and a t-shirt and running along the hard-packed sand.

As she watched, he paused, jogging in place as he looked down at his watch. Then he peeled his shirt off and started running again.

What was he doing running by himself? Altering his patterns without telling her? Did that watch have GPS? Did he have his cell phone with him so he could be tracked or call for help?

She needed to get answers to these questions. So she ran for the stairs from the pier to the beach, easily closing the gap on him.

"Chuck!" she called out as she jogged up to him. But not before she had taken a moment to watch the muscles in his back flex as he moved.

He stumbled slightly on some loose sand as he turned, looking surprised. "Sarah?"

Thanks to her training, she was able to run her eyes down his torso without actually moving her eyes. And this was a good thing, because it let her examine him for future reference. There might be a situation where he would have to be identified by his chest.

"Hi," she said, giving him a professional smile. "I didn't know you ran at night."

"Yeah, sometimes … I had a breakfast meeting today, so …" he rambled as he fumbled with his shirt, pulling it on and shaking out his hair. "And you're running now, too!"

"I always run in the evenings. It helps me sleep."

"Ahhh," he said. "So you have trouble sleeping? Don't like warm milk?"

She made a face, prompting a laugh from Chuck. "Warm milk is only acceptable with brandy or rum in it," she said.

"I definitely agree with you there," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "But then, most every beverage is improved with alcohol."

"Really?" She quirked an eyebrow. "Like water?"

"That is one of the exceptions that prove the rule. I haven't found a liquor that improves water." Chuck grinned and kicked at the sand a little.

"True … after all, water works against alcohol. Making it weaker. As the term says, watering it down."

Chuck laughed, ducking his head. "Good one," he said, displaying his even, white teeth in a wide smile.

That smile had taken two years of orthodontia to achieve. It was pretty great work, she had to admit.

Sarah straightened her shoulders. "Well, I should let you get back to your run. Oh, did you bring your cell phone with you? It's important to have a way to contact you. And to track you in case something happened to you."

"Would you actually do that?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"If I thought you were in danger? Yes, of course. Standard Pinkerton procedure."

He eyed her. "Only if I was in danger? Not just because you might want to know where I am? It's okay, you can admit it. You can tell me that you just have to know my location 24/7, just in case you can't hold out against my charms any longer."

It was all so ridiculous, the way he flirted with her. The very fact that he was flirting, when she was in charge of protecting him, shouldn't be happening. Most men would use her job as a reason to hold her at arm's length. To treat her like the furniture. Not Chuck, though. The longer she had known him, the more he seemed to flirt.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I think someone's gotten too much air or something."

"Or something," Chuck agreed, grinning at her. "But you're right, I need to get back to my run." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, untangling the earbuds wrapped around the device. "And see? I have my phone. I feel like I should be rewarded."

Looking up at him, for some reason she felt a flutter in her stomach. But she sighed melodramatically and patted his shoulder. "Oh, Chuck, you can't get rewarded until you've worked a lot harder. And I've always heard that exercise is its own reward."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Okay, okay. Me, back to my workout. You, keep being strong and gorgeous, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Why did he say strong first? Like it was the most important part? Sarah gave her head a quick shake. "Yeah, of course. See you tomorrow."

Giving her a small nod, Chuck smiled and popped his earbuds in. Then he turned and started running back towards his apartment building, leaving Sarah alone on the beach.

Because it was her job, she watched him run away. That was all.


	5. The Detective and the Tech Guy Get Lit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter is yet another example of how SteampunkChuckster is an amazing writer. She takes the source material from The Thin Man and updated it to a modern setting, makes it work for this version of Chuck and Sarah and gives it a spark that makes it something new and different. This was one of the scenes that she told me about when she was describing this whole idea, and it might just have been this scene that made me ask if I could horn my way in. :-) I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did!

Chuck burst down the stairs of his condo, making quite the racket. Sarah looked up from her book, perched on the comfortable living room couch, her hand twitching reflexively towards the knife strapped to her ankle.

She stopped and took in his appearance as he landed on the hardwood floors with a thump. He was wearing a slim cut charcoal suit with a white button up beneath, no tie, and oddly enough his black Converse sneakers. "What are you doing?"

"What d'you mean?" He grinned and shrugged his shoulders, crossing the room to the kitchen and opening a cupboard.

"Are you going to the office? Give me a second and drive you." She closed the book and buttoned her gray business blazer, smoothing it down her front as he watched in calm amusement.

"I'm not going to the office."

Sarah turned and fixed him with a flat look. "Well, you're not going anywhere else."

Chuck just grinned again. "Yeah, I am. And you're going, too."

She was silent, trying to ignore the broadness of his shoulders in that suit, or the way he'd actually fixed his hair a little with some product.

"We're going to a bar and we're drinking."

"Um, no. No, we're not." She unbuttoned the blazer and sat down again, picking up her book.

"Aw, c'mon! I can't stay in here all cooped up. I'm going out and you're going too."

"Fine. Go out. I'm not going, though."

"Why?" he half whined, setting down his glass and rounding the counter to move closer to where she was sitting.

"I'm on duty."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I don't. Okay, look. We go to a bar, have a quick drink, come back. This has been a stressful week for both of us."

"Mr. Bartowski, your life might not be important to you, but it's important to your father, and it's important to my employer. You die, I get fired. And I like my job. It's a good job. Lots of benefits." She idly flipped the page of her book even though she hadn't read any of the words.

"Come oooon, Sarah Walker. Even Pinkerton detectives can have fun sometimes."

"Yeah, they can. And they do. When they're not on duty."

He plopped down on the chair a few feet away, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and raising an eyebrow. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."

She ignored the thrill that shot through her at the tone of his voice, how it seemed to come from deep in his chest, rumbling into her ears and down her spine. "I'm not putting your ass on the line like that." Her eyes slid up his legs, abdomen, chest, and finally settled on his brown gaze. "I think it's pretty good."

A slow smile spread across his features, starting in his eyes. Then he hopped to his feet and fastened a button of his suit jacket. "Welp. I'm going then. You know, anything happens to me while I'm at the bar, you're getting fired anyways. Might as well go with me. Stand more of a chance protecting me that way. Last chance."

"I'm not going."

XOXOXOXO

"My good man, a dry martini. Make that two dry martinis, actually." Chuck turned to grin at his companion for the night.

"Same for me," Sarah chirped, meeting his grin cheekily.

The bartender raised his eyebrows and turned away to prepare the drinks as Chuck leaned away to survey her with an impressed look on his face. "What happened to Agent I'm-On-Duty?" he asked.

"She remembered she likes alcohol…especially when someone else is paying." Sarah shrugged one shoulder and turned on her stool to look around the room. "And that she can drink any of these people under the table."

"Oh hooo, is that a challenge?"

"No," she answered seriously, giving him a look.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Not a challenge. I'm just glad you came."

Pursing her lips to quell the smile that threatened at his sincerity, she turned back to the bar and watched the bartender line two martinis up in front of her first, then Chuck. "So am I. I think I needed this."

"Wound up?"

"A little," she confessed with a bounce of her shoulder.

"Yeah, me too. Never thought I'd be in this position—afraid for my dad's life, afraid of losing everything he's built up, our company, our livelihood…"

She wondered why he didn't mention that his life was potentially in danger as well. Was it because he didn't want to think about it? Or was it because he was too busy worrying about his father and the empire Stephen Bartowski had worked hard to build from the ground up?

Feeling a little breathless at that thought, she gave him a humorless smile. "I bet."

"You're used to all this intrigue, though, right? I mean, this is what you do all the time."

"Doesn't mean I don't get stressed. There's a lot riding on this investigation. It's not just embezzlement or some big honcho wanting to check on his employees. A lot of people can get hurt this time. Innocent people." She shrugged again, trying to make herself seem nonchalant, even though her words directly conflicted with the gesture.

"And it's your job to make sure that doesn't happen." He raised his glass to her and she clinked her own against it.

"Right."

"Well you're doing a bang-up job so far, m'lady, I must say." He downed the drink as though it was water and he'd been trapped in the desert for a week.

So she did the same and licked her lips a little, setting the glass down. "Thank you."

Chuck lifted his second glass with a raised eyebrow, then downed that one as well. She couldn't resist grinning his way as he immediately ordered more martinis.

"Where'd you learn to drink, if I may ask?" He turned to raise a questioning eyebrow over his shoulder as she downed her second martini. "What with your penchant for not drinking while 'on duty'," he teased, making bunny ears with his fingers.

She laughed. "I'm not on duty twenty-four seven," she said flatly, tapping the bar top in front of her for more drinks. "And I went to college."

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"Excuse me, but no. We're not getting into the personal stuff."

"What?" he gasped, his voice getting a little high pitched. "You get to know everything about me and I don't even get to know where you went to college? What kind of bull is that?"

She grinned and shrugged a shoulder cutely, taking her time with the third drink. Technically, telling Chuck personal information wasn't against Pinkerton protocol. This wasn't the CIA. Nothing bad could really happen to her professionally if Chuck knew where she went to school.

But Jack Walker was out there somewhere, still working con jobs, and as little as he'd lent to her personal success after he followed the unlawful path, he was her father.

More than that, though, she hadn't stopped Jack's actions when she probably could have. People were hurt, and while their injuries hadn't been physical, she'd done nothing to stop it from happening. And that more than anything made her keep quiet on the subject. She didn't want Chuck to know about that. She didn't want to see his warm brown eyes judge in that split second before he slid the polite mask in place in a belated attempt to not hurt her feelings.

Chuck just shook his head in playful disdain, downing his third drink and turning away from his fourth to look at the other people in the bar. "Fine, then. No personal stuff, even though you probably know things like what I named my favorite blankie as a toddler, and how long it took for me to be potty trained. My first crush in grade school," he added wistfully.

Sarah snorted, almost choking on the sip she'd just taken. Chuck gestured for water and she glared over the rim of the glass once the bartender handed it to her. Wiping her eyes of the tears, she made a face. "I don't know any of those things and I don't really want to."

"Oh? Not interested in my love life at all, are you? Not even a little?" He held his thumb and pointer finger up, about an inch apart.

"No. Thanks. Unless one of your ex-girlfriends is a murderess and has you in her sights next, I uh…don't wanna know."

"Ex-girlfriends. Hmmm."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?" she asked cautiously.

"It's just that you didn't say anything about my present girlfriend."

Sarah jolted and hid it by reaching for her drink, emptying it and taking her time putting it back down. "You don't have a present girlfriend."

"Aha!" He gave her a satisfied smile. "You do know about my love life."

"Oh come on. You have all the markings of a man in between girlfriends. It doesn't take a detailed dossier to know that," she snorted.

"Markings?" he asked dubiously. She noticed he was leaning a bit closer and the room was getting a bit warmer.

"Yeah. Markings."

Chuck snorted. "Only markings I know of is a birthmark on my—"

"Nope! Stop!"

"Arm."

She turned to look at him, watching the slow smile grow on his face again and she had to laugh.

Forty minutes passed in which they talked about everything that wasn't personal, knocking back drinks, Chuck playing air guitar to the music in the background as his ears turned redder and his eyes became blearier. She learned a good deal about electronics and why Playstation would always be better than Xbox, in Chuck's opinion, even though he owned both game systems and their successors.

They finally stumbled down the hallway to Chuck's condo after spending nearly an hour inside the bar, Sarah supporting a good deal of Chuck's weight. He felt warm against her side, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, the fingers of his large hand clenching her upper arm, his face close to hers.

She was buzzed, tipsy, maybe even a little drunk, but she'd stopped drinking after the fourth, instead letting Chuck indulge as much as he felt was necessary. Why not?

She was here to protect him, and maybe he'd be a little easier to protect if he was passed out on his bed until morning instead of getting into trouble. Easier than shooting him with a tranq dart, at least.

They stopped at his door and she made sure he could stand straight before she slipped her arms from around him. She'd since pulled her blazer off and had it draped over one arm, her red blouse a little less vibrant than usual in the darkness of the hallway. "Let me see your keys, Mr. Bartowski."

"Mr. Bartowski is my dad. I'm Chuck."

"Your keys."

He pulled them out of his pants pocket and dangled them. "There." Then he stuffed them back in his pocket.

"I meant to open your door."

"You just said you wanted to see 'em." His eyes seemed a bit clearer after being hit in the face by the winter night air. Which meant he wasn't as drunk as all that. Which meant he was definitely flirting.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning wildly. "You better hand over those keys."

"Or what?"

"I kick your ass."

"Then you'll have to explain why you had to kick my ass and why your breath smells like martinis and hey, aren't you supposed to be on duty?" He gave her a toothy grin and leaned against the door, crossing his arms.

She stared at him, her features immovable. Then she stepped closer, even while her heart thudded against her ribcage at his close proximity. He seemed to lose a little of his cockiness as she looked up into his eyes.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he unfolded his arms and made to take a step back.

Sarah pounced and grabbed his wrist, spinning him and slamming his front into the door. She held one arm behind his back with her left hand and shoved her other hand into his pocket. A moment later she pulled back with his keys in her hand and let him go.

Sarah unlocked the door and swung it open, mockingly dangling the keys in his face as he just had. Then she swept her arm to the side and gestured for him to enter, bowing her head. "Ladies first," she said in a formal tone.

Even while he gaped, there was so much amusement brimming in his brown eyes that she almost grabbed his face and kissed him. Instead she watched him go in, taking a moment to admire the way his ass looked in his slacks before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.


	6. The Detective and the Tech Guy Play Dress Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which 'dressy casual' is finally explained! I think one of the most fun parts of writing this story is taking small things in canon and working them into our universe. dettiot does a choice job at it in this chapter especially, I think. Not only that, but in this chapter she wrote one of the most beautiful (in my humble opinion) moments of Charah she's written to date. So without further ado, settle in and enjoy.
> 
> Oh, one more thing. This chapter has a dress code. It's dressy casual.

"Dressy casual? What the hell does that mean?"

Chuck stared at the invitation he had just received to his sister's wedding.

_Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb and Devon Woodcomb_

_Invite You to Join Us_

_As We Celebrate Our Marriage_

_Saturday, June 12_

_Beginning at 4:00pm_

_Cabrillo Beach, San Pedro, California_

_Dressy Casual_

_Clambake and Fish Fry_

_Open Bar_

Actually, Ellie and Devon had eloped four months ago—during a drunken Valentine's Day jaunt to Las Vegas—much to the chagrin of their mothers. It had taken this long for Ellie to work her way back into Mary Bartowski's graces, thus the beach party to "celebrate the wedding".

But dressy casual … he had no idea what that meant. And lately, when he didn't understand something, there was only one person he wanted to ask.

It was one thing to go to Sarah Walker with questions about security or how to better protect his father, though. It was something very different to ask for her help with dress codes.

However … she was a woman—and what a woman, he thought idly. And women knew about dress codes.

Chuck swiveled back and forth in his Swedish ergonomic desk chair, mulling this over. Ever since their drinking escapades a few weeks ago, he'd noticed the beautiful Pinkerton agent seemed to be loosening up around him. Not when they were in mixed company, of course. Then she was all business. But when it was just the two of them, her mask dropped, revealing a funny, smart, flirtatious woman. A woman he really liked spending time with. Someone he could imagine getting closer to.

It might not happen while she was on the job. He could understand her not wanting to muddy the waters by dating a client. But once the case was solved? Why couldn't they date then?

Of course, he might just be lost in dreamland. But it was something to think about. And until she said flat out that she wasn't interested in him, he was going to make sure she knew that he was most definitely interested in her. So between that and this invitation, he had an idea.

Lifting up the invitation from the desk, he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans and headed off towards the cubicle that Sarah had been assigned near his office. He loped through the halls, nodding and smiling and high-fiving with the people he walked past, until he reached her desk.

Sarah was leaning back in her own desk chair, her feet up on the desk and a bunch of files in her lap. The image was much too tempting for him not to linger for a moment, to put off announcing his presence just yet. Because she made quite an image.

Her feet were in a pair of high black pumps, her ankles daintily crossed one over the other, and her skirt ended a few inches above her knees. That left what seemed like miles of tanned, smooth, finely-muscled legs for him to enjoy viewing.

Chuck had never considered himself a leg man. He might have to reconsider that.

Before he got too carried away, he cleared his throat and moved into her cubicle, half-leaning against, half-sitting on her desk. Sarah raised one eyebrow as she looked up at him. "Getting comfortable, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Might as well," he said with a grin. "Since I'm going to have to persuade you for some help."

Now both eyebrows went up. She pushed back from her desk a little, bringing her legs down and sitting up straight in her chair. "Did you come bearing martinis and chocolates? Because otherwise, my help is hard to gain."

He snapped his fingers. "Darn. Knew I forgot something. I'll owe you one if you can explain this." He held the reception invitation out to her.

Sarah eyed it, then looked up at him. "It's a wedding invitation."

"I did get that," Chuck said, rolling his eyes. "No, I meant the dress code. What, to a female, is 'dressy casual'?"

"Hmmm, let me get Emily Post on the line and I'll find out for you." Her tone was dry and cutting, but there was a sparkle in her eyes.

"Seriously, I need to know. And you always look great, so I figured you'd know."

"Why don't you just ask your sister?" Sarah asked, tilting her head to one side. "She'd know what she meant."

"If I ask her, she'll do that really heavy sigh that big sisters perfected back in the Garden of Eden and say 'It's so simple, Chuck'. And my sister already thinks my brains are a bit suspect, with how I've stayed in the family bosom." Chuck tucked the invite back into his pocket. "If I promise you martinis, chocolate, and a large bouquet of your favorite flower, will you tell me what you think?"

Sarah looked at him, then grinned. "First you'd have to guess what my favorite flower is. But rather than keep you guessing until Doomsday, I'll tell you. It's gardenias. I like them loosely arranged, in a medium-height vase. Natural yet elegant." She lifted the files off her lap and set them on her desk before standing up. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go?" Chuck spluttered, rising to his feet. "What do you mean?"

"'Dressy casual' means a linen suit or loose-fitting trousers and a button-down, all in pale colors. And since you have none of those items in your closet, this means you have to go shopping." Sarah's smile as she explained all this to him was wide, delighted, and slightly feral.

"I should have known letting you into my closet was a bad idea," Chuck said, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, then, Obi-Wan of Closets. Take me shopping."

It wasn't until they were halfway to the employee parking garage that Chuck realized something. His whole family would be at this shindig. That meant that Sarah would have to be there, as the Pinkerton agent responsible for protecting his father and himself. And that meant she'd need something dressy casual for herself.

He felt a grin grow on his face, a grin that was definitely less scary than Sarah's earlier smile, as he contemplated how she would react to him buying her a dress.

XOXOXOXO

Although she could never admit it to Chuck, she was pleasantly surprised to find he was easy to shop with. Sure, he seemed to like clothes and could dress himself very well, but he could have a personal shopper who picked out his clothes. But within a half hour, it was clear that Chuck actually did the hard work.

"The linen suit is a good idea, but don't they come in colors other than white?" he asked as they flipped through several clothing racks. "I'd feel like Colonel Sanders in this." He held up a crisp white suit.

She couldn't help laughing. "Not a good look for you." When she spied one in a creamy pale beige, a few shades lighter than tea, she grabbed it and held it up to him.

He looked down. "You think this would work?"

Looking up at him, she grinned. "Yeah." The color of the suit set off his skin, highlighting his tan. With the right dress shirt—a pale blue, or maybe something with stripes—it'd be perfect for a beach reception.

"Here, hold this," she said, pushing the suit into his arms and heading to the dress shirts. Within a few moments, she had picked a blue shirt and a coordinating tie. "There. Perfect."

Chuck eyed her. "I'm going to try this on. Then we'll see about perfect."

Giving him a wide smile, she took a seat in a chair near the dressing rooms and whipped out her phone. "I want an extra martini after this, because you doubted me."

He didn't say anything else, just headed for the dressing room, mumbling under his breath. While he changed, she sorted through a few emails and checked her schedule for tomorrow.

"Well?"

"One second," she said, holding a finger up as she finished reading an email. When she was done, she looked up and felt her eyes widen.

Chuck was leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. If she didn't know him better, she would say he had selected a pose that would make him look even more attractive. As it was … he looked amazing. The suit struck a balance between showing his body and being loose and relaxed. As she had suspected, the color was ideal for him, and he just looked …

Swallowing, Sarah stood up. "Good."

Chuck smiled at her. "Yeah? I have to admit you were right."

Reaching out, she adjusted his tie a little. "That's why you should always listen to me."

"I thought I already did," he said, leaning again. "I'll have to be more obvious about it from here on out."

His cocky yet sweet response made her regain her equilibrium. "And now you know what dressy casual is."

"Great. Let me change back into my clothes and pay for all this, then we can get your dress."

Sarah blinked. "Pardon me?"

"My whole family will be at this party. So you'll need to be there. Ergo, you'll need a dress."

"I'm sure I have something in my closet that will work …"

"You brought your entire wardrobe with you?" Chuck asked, raising his eyebrows.

She grimaced. "Fine! Change!"

His grin should be illegal, it was so mischievous. He must have been able to get away with murder as a small boy.

As soon as he had changed, Chuck steered her over into the womenswear department. She half-expected him to suggest ridiculous and outlandish choices, dresses she would never wear, but instead he hung back. When she held up a dress, he would nod or shake his head, often with a comment that made her take a second look before silently agreeing with him.

Soon she had an armful of dresses, but was secretly leaning towards a dress that Chuck had liked: a long strapless dress, patterned with blue and green vines on a pale cream background. She could almost feel the skirt swish around her legs.

Once she got it on, she spent a minute tugging on the zipper, trying to get it more than halfway up. Nothing seemed to get it up, not even her sure-fire trick of jumping up and down as she yanked on the zipper. Finally, there seemed to be no other option but opening the door a little and calling out, "Chuck?"

He looked up from the issue of Wired he was flipping through, then walked over to the door. "What is it?"

She opened the door wider and turned the side with the half-zipped zipper towards him. "I need some help with this."

When she looked up at him, she suddenly realized just how intimate this moment was. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra. He could see the skin of her side, could brush his fingers against her skin as he eased the zipper down—up, up!

"Do you need some help, dearie?"

The grandmotherly woman who was in charge of the dressing rooms suddenly appeared. Chuck turned on his heel without a word, returning to the chairs in the waiting area. Sarah swallowed and turned to the woman, getting her help with the zipper.

The moment when she stepped out of the dressing room was bound to be awkward. But all she could focus on was how good it felt to have Chuck gaze at her with a stunned look on his face. To know he was stunned by her.

"Wow."

"Yeah?" she asked hesitantly. She turned towards the full-length mirror, twisting back and forth.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly appearing behind her, looking at her in the mirror. Something about their eyes meeting in the mirror … it was different from looking at him face-on. With him so close to her, there was a tingle in the air. And having him look at her, his amber brown eyes the same color as whisky and twice as intoxicating …

Sarah turned around and took a step away from him. "Thank you for the help. I think I'll go with this one."

Chuck nodded. "Great." Was it her imagination, or was his voice a bit deeper than normal? "Um, just, go ahead and change and I'll pay for it."

"What?" she asked, blinking at him. "You'll pay?"

"You wouldn't have to buy this dress if it wasn't for me. So it only seems right that I pay for it. And because I can't figure out what kind of gift I can give you that says 'Thank you for protecting me'."

Oh, this was so unprofessional. Pinkerton agents were not permitted to accept gifts from clients. She had a very generous expense account, and this dress would be a perfectly valid use of it. But, for some reason, she found herself nodding.

And that made Chuck smile at her. So bright and big that she felt like she had swallowed the sun. It was something she had never felt before, something she really liked feeling.

Something she shouldn't be feeling.

She couldn't stand here and keep looking at Chuck smile at her. Sarah took a step back, then turned and hurried into the dressing room, needing to have more protection for herself than this gorgeous floaty beautiful dress. The dress that Chuck was going to buy for her.


	7. The Detective, the Tech Guy and the Cell Phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When we discussed this chapter, I knew 100% that I wanted dettiot to write it. Not just because she’s a fantastic action writer, but because I knew she would handle the emotions that went along with it. It’s such a serious twist, an emotional upheaval, and my writing buddy handled it like a pro. When I read it, I was so on the edge of my seat that I literally almost fell off of it. So make sure you’re all nice and scooted back in your chair proper-like. And enjoy this chapter!

As she ran through the corridors of Bartowski Electronics, Sarah Walker cursed her choice of shoes. Why would a woman in her line of work wear three-inch heels? Just because Chuck Bartowski had a good six inches on her and she liked knowing that even in her highest shoes he was still taller than her and she hated getting a crick in her neck from craning to look into his spectacular eyes, it was no excuse to wear such impractical footwear. 

She had let herself get lulled into bad habits. Habits that might get Chuck killed. And if Chuck Bartowski died because it was her fault, she would never be able to forgive herself. Not simply because she had failed in her job, but because … because she— 

Throwing open the door to his office, Sarah ignored Chuck’s secretary and barrelled towards the door to the inner office. “Chuck!” she yelled as she got closer, desperate to get to him before it was too late. 

When she set foot into his office, there was a collection of sensory flashes that told her what was going on. Tinny music coming from the cell phone on Chuck’s desk. The slightest plasticky odor in the room. And Chuck, reaching for the phone, naturally responding to the ringing phone by answering it.

“No, don’t!” she shrieked, diving to simultaneously knock aside the phone and push him out of the way. 

And then came the explosion. 

XOXOXOXO

_Two hours earlier …_

For years, Bartowski Electronics had made sizeable contributions to local charities. Therefore, there were many times when a senior member of the company had to attend galas, receptions, or benefit concerts, in order to be recognized. Due to his mother’s lack of interest in the company and his father burying himself in his newest project, that responsibility had increasingly fallen to Chuck. 

That was why he was shaking hands and engaging in small talk with several of southern California’s wealthiest entrepreneurs on a Tuesday morning, a cup of coffee in his free hand. Although he felt like all he was doing was avoiding questions he couldn’t answer. 

“Any news about that ugly business with Gerheart, Chuck?” 

“When is your father going to release that top-secret project of his, Mr. Bartowski?”

“And who’s this pretty little lady?”

Finally, something he could answer! Even if the question came from “Bronco” Billy Barton, a Texas businessman who had never heard of “too much information.” 

Chuck turned and drew Sarah a bit closer, resting his hand in the middle of her back. “This is Sarah Walker, an old friend of the family who’s visiting for the summer.” 

“Keeping you company, eh, Charles?” Bronco’s eyebrows, which were full and bushy, waggled as he eyed Sarah. Chuck could feel Sarah stiffen under his hand. “Bet she’s taking care of you real good.” 

“You don’t know the half of it, Bronco,” Chuck said, quickly steering Sarah away. In a low voice, he said, “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s not like you stood there slapping your thigh as you talked about how I ‘take care of you’,” Sarah said, looking up at him. She stepped away from him enough that his hand was left hanging in the air instead of against her back. “I’m going to get some more coffee.” 

“Okay,” Chuck said softly, watching as Sarah walked over towards the refreshment tent. Ever since they had gone shopping for Ellie’s reception, things had been a bit … tense. He wasn’t quite sure why, but the easy camaraderie between them had definitely taken a hit. And to Chuck’s dismay, he found that he really missed her. He missed having drinks together, laughing and talking. He missed making her smile, hearing her tease him, getting to watch her beautiful, engaging face. 

With a small sigh, he turned, bumping into another guest. “Sorry,” he said, resting his hand on the other man’s shoulder in order to steady himself. Chuck didn’t recognize him, but then, he certainly didn’t know everyone in the greater southern California business community.

He went back to pressing the flesh, trying not to let his problems with Sarah distract him from his job. But he resolved that he was going to find a way to get through to her. Just because she was protecting him didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. And since he was determined that as soon as the job was over, she would know how not-friendly his feelings for her were, friendship was a good place for now.

Unfortunately, Sarah seemed to sense what was up, because during the drive back to Bartowski Electronics, she carried on a long, in-depth phone call to someone. Given the amount of yelling she was doing, Chuck left her alone. But once he was in his office, he picked up his phone and called her extension.

“Sarah Walker,” she said, her voice full of quiet competence. 

“Sarah, can we talk, please?” he asked. 

“What is it, Chuck?” she asked absentmindedly. He could almost make out the sound of papers shuffling on her end of the line. 

“You used to like me. What changed?”

Dead silence. He waited and waited, until finally he had to make sure she was still there. “Sarah?”

The sound of her clearing her throat came over the line. “This isn’t appropriate, Chuck.” 

“I get that as long as you’re working for my dad, nothing can happen,” he said, pacing as much as the phone cord allowed. “But there’s nothing that says we can’t be friends.” 

“Actually, there is,” she said. “Being friends would lower my guard too much. Let someone slip in and hurt you.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Chuck said. “C’mon, you’d be like a tiger if someone tried to hurt me. Because you like me.” 

“I’d be like a tiger, as you put it, for any client,” Sarah said a bit primly. 

“You can’t tell me that you don’t miss me buying you drinks and making you laugh,” Chuck challenged. “And it lets you stay close to me, watch me, without attracting any attention. This distance between us, it’s not good.” 

He was pretty sure he was pushing too hard. That she’d make some cutting little speech and hang up on him. But to his shock, Sarah stayed silent for a moment, before quietly admitting, “You might be right.” 

His knees felt a bit unsteady, so Chuck sank down into his desk chair. “Y-yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “Okay. It’s nearly lunch time. I’ll grab some sandwiches and we can go eat outside in the courtyard.” 

Chuck couldn’t help grinning. He’d done it. He’d gotten through to her. They could go back to spending time together. He’d get a chance to show her just how perfect they were for each other. Feel that thrill he got from bantering with her, watching her eyes sparkle as she tossed the perfect come-back at him. Because nothing was as exciting as talking to Sarah Walker. 

“That sounds awe—” 

The ringing of a cell phone—a ring tone that he didn’t recognize—made Chuck stop mid-word. “What’s that?” he muttered, looking for the source of the noise. 

“Chuck?” Sarah asked. 

He drew a Nokia candybar phone out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got somebody’s cell phone. They’re calling me.” 

“What?” He could hear the change in her voice, how she went from Sarah to Pinkerton Agent Walker. 

“It’s a restricted number, calling this cell phone that I found in my jacket.” 

“Don’t do anything—don’t answer it! I’ll be right there.” 

“Sarah?” he said. “Sarah?” 

But she had left, not even bothering to hang up the phone. 

Chuck set the phone down on his desk, looking at it curiously. What was going on? 

The phone kept ringing, the jaunty little tune quickly growing annoying. He reached for the phone, hoping there was a way he could change the phone’s ringer to vibrate, when Sarah burst into his office.

And then everything went white and silent. 

XOXOXOXO

Dust hung in the air heavily. Her ears were ringing and Sarah shook her head, feeling the disorientation that came from temporary deafness. She coughed and looked around, trying to see in the dim emergency lights. Trying to remember just what had happened. 

Something—no, someone—stirred beneath her. Squinting, Sarah realized it was Chuck. And suddenly, she remembered. 

“Chuck!” she said, unsure whether she whispered or shouted his name. She crawled up enough to see his face. There was blood gushing from a cut at his hairline, and his skin was covered in powdery dust. 

Sarah quickly ran her hands over him and said his name again. “Chuck!” Her ears were finally beginning to clear, so she could hear just how worried and upset she sounded. “Chuck! Answer me!” 

He let out a raspy cough, his body shaking. Then he winced. “Ooomph.” 

That little moan of pain sounded beautiful. It meant he wasn’t seriously hurt. “Chuck? Does anything hurt?” she asked, trying to sound no-nonsense. Trying to keep her hands from shaking as she touched him, checking for broken bones or wounds. 

“My head …” he muttered, one hand gesturing up towards the wound just above his forehead. 

“Shhh,” she said. “Easy, there.” She pressed her hand against the oozing blood, trying to balance the need to apply pressure with not wanting to cause him any further pain. 

Chuck’s eyes fluttered open, revealing those same beautiful whisky eyes that she— “What happened?” he croaked. 

She licked her lips, barely noticing the acrid taste of the dust that also covered her face. “The phone you found—it must have been a bomb.” 

“What?” he yelped, trying to sit up. “A bomb?” 

“Don’t move!” she said, gently pushing him back down. “You might have a spinal injury.” 

“Sarah …” he said, confusion and worry and fear on his face. “Why would someone want to blow me up?” 

“I don’t know, Chuck,” she said, giving in to her urge and lightly stroking his hair. “Stay still.” 

His hand settled on her side, stroking up and down slowly. “Are you okay? You’re okay, right?” 

It was all she could do not to sigh and press into her hand. And that was the strangest reaction for her to have, after surviving a bomb blast that might have killed her … her client. She did her best to smile at him, even though she could already feel the bruises forming and she was pretty sure her back was a mass of small cuts. “I’m fine, Chuck.” 

He was starting to look woozy. Whether it was from a potential head injury or simply the loss of blood, she couldn’t tell. “Liar,” he said, slurring a little. 

Sarah turned and yelled loudly. “Help! We need help here!” She turned back to Chuck. “Hang in there, Chuck. Help will be here soon.” 

“Don’ need help. Jus’ need you …” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to respond. She knew that Chuck was drawn to her … as much as she was to him. But it was something they hadn’t talked about, hadn’t put into words. Not until today, first with Chuck’s no-holds-barred phone call, and now with his soft, dazed words. 

Swallowing, she looked at him, ready to respond with more words of comfort, only to find that he had passed out. So instead, she turned and started hollering, fumbling in her pockets for her phone. 

Chuck needed medical attention. And Sarah had to find the person responsible for this. Because she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him again.

End.


	8. The Detective and the Tech Guy's Sweet Tooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: You might think this chapter is being posted today because it’s Halloween. Well, it’s not--it’s just a happy accident. And really, those are the only good kind of accidents. Speaking of accidents, things have definitely changed for Chuck and Sarah after that cell phone explosion in his office. How will the two of them cope with those changes? SteampunkChuckster does a fantastic job with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did! And happy Halloween!

They always show awkward elevator rides on television and in movies. Comedians work the awkward elevator ride routine into their stand-up occasionally. 

But nothing either Sarah or Chuck had seen could rival the awkwardness of this particular elevator ride. 

They stood on either side of the elevator car, leaning back against their respective walls, Sarah looking down at her crossed arms and Chuck staring up at himself in the mirrored ceiling. Things had been less comfortable between them since the cell phone bomb that exploded in his office, and she knew it was mostly her fault. But the sight of Chuck lying beneath her with blood and dust caking his face had haunted her for two weeks now. And every time she spotted the bruises on his body as he padded and winced around his apartment in the days after he was released from the hospital, or the bandage the covered the stitches that had been required for his head wound, her stomach flipped uncomfortably. 

Now the bruises were mostly healed so that he insisted he was perfectly fine. But he still wore a small bandage over the stitches along his hairline. It served as a reminder to Sarah of what she almost lost. Rather, how she nearly failed to do her job.

It had been a rough day for both of them, and getting chewed out by Chuck’s mom again hadn’t improved it any. She’d already gotten a similar dressing down from the older woman at the hospital while Ellie stitched him up in the other room, very soon after the explosion. Sarah hadn’t been in the right mindset as she would have been had it been any of her prior clients. And even while she wasn’t exactly prepared for the barrage of accusatory language thrown at her, she’d dealt with it appropriately.

The second lecture had fazed Sarah as much as the first had—which was not at all, frankly. She was used to being berated by clients and their families. And Sarah was already frazzled enough about the near-death experience and how much of a part her inaction had in his being injured in the first place. 

If she hadn’t put so much distance between herself and Chuck after she dragged him dress shopping— _No, wait. I didn’t drag him dress shopping. I dragged him off to buy him a suit and then he dragged me off to buy me a dress—And we both have a knack for getting each other to do things we shouldn’t be doing._

Maybe she could have noticed something if she hadn’t ran so far away. She would have seen whoever planted the phone on Chuck. While pursuing anything more than a friendship with the Bartowski heir would be disastrous, she didn’t have to pull away completely. Her ability to do her job had been compromised by her fear of getting too close.

But Chuck’s mother had insisted on throwing superficialities like “how much is my husband paying for this?” at Sarah, accusing her of drawing the investigation out in order to squeeze the family for more money. And as the job dictated, she answered calmly and politely, always professional and business-like, apologetic and reassuring. The woman left in a swirl of perfume and discontent and slithered in the direction of Chuck’s office. 

Sarah was certain Mary Bartowski had repeated to her son her worries about Pinkerton’s inability to successfully conduct the investigation, because Chuck’s face was still red when he emerged from his office a few hours later, his features twisted into a scowl—something she didn’t see often on him. And he was abnormally quiet when she drove him back to the apartment at the end of the workday. 

She saw that Chuck clutched a paper bag in one hand, his briefcase in the other, chewing on his cheek as he lowered his head and caught her eye. Then he smiled. She sent a halfhearted smile back.

“What’s in that bag of yours?” she finally asked as their elevator car slowly climbed up each level of the building.

“Replacement for what we drank last night,” he answered, tucking his briefcase under his arm and freeing his other hand to pull a large bottle of gin out of the bag. He bounced his eyebrows a few times and she pursed her lips, trying not to smile.

“You did most of the drinking, if I remember correctly. I was on duty.”

“Yeah, because that stopped you the first time. I know you.” Sarah felt a mixture of warmth and discomfort at his proclamation and she looked down at the black pumps she wore on her feet, trying to persuade herself he actually didn’t know her at all. “You’re a woman who can’t resist good gin.”

“I can!” she shot back, though knowing what he said was true.

“Well, you sure did a great job of it last night, Sarah.” His eyes were shining brightly beneath his bandage and she felt compelled to give him a flirty little one-shouldered shrug.

“I can’t help it if you make a fantastic martini.”

Chuck’s face softened at that and she knew she’d found the way to this man’s heart in particular. Compliment him on his martini-making skills. “Well, you throw ‘em back like a champ.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him and his ears turned red. “That was meant to be a compliment, by the way.”

“Hm. Charming,” she teased, watching him as he slipped the bottle of gin back into the bag and clutched his suitcase in his hand again.

The ding sounded as the elevator reached the fifth floor and they stepped off, wandering down the hallway towards Chuck’s apartment. They were silent the whole way, and silent again when he opened the door and let her inside.

“I’m gonna fix myself some ice cream. Want some?” he asked quietly, walking around her and heading into the kitchen. He set the gin to the side of the sink and turned to look at her questioningly.

“Uh, no. No thanks. Wait, ice cream? Did you already eat at the office?”

He blinked at her in slight confusion. “Uh…no. Why?”

“You’re having ice cream before dinner?”

He chuckled, producing the carton of vanilla bean ice cream from the freezer and setting it on his counter. “Don’t faint, Detective Walker, but yes. Yes, I am.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and walked to the couch, pleased with the way the awkward tension between them throughout the day had eased a little in the elevator. “I haven’t had dessert before dinner since I was in middle school. God, that was thrilling at the time,” she finished drily.

Chuck turned and watched her kick her pumps off, rubbing her feet after she plopped onto his couch and made herself at home. He gaped at her playfully. “You’re kidding! Dessert before dinner is the coolest thing since sliced bread.”

“For the record, sliced bread isn’t all that cool. I personally prefer slicing my own bread.”

Chuck laughed heartily as he prepared his ice cream, his actions unseen to her as she bent down to grab her briefcase and pull it up onto her lap. She had a few background checks of Bartowski Electronics Corporation to run by the younger Bartowski before he got too settled in his post-work routine. She staved off the flush to her face at the sound of his laugh, knowing she’d been the one to cause it. 

“And you say you don’t have a sense of humor,” he teased from the open kitchen. 

She bit her lip and thumbed through the papers to find the documents she was looking for. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t recall ever saying that.”

She caught Chuck emerging from around the counter and moving towards her in her peripheral. “Oh. Sorry. You know what? I must have overheard Detective Brandon saying that. My bad,” he said, plopping down in the nearby chair with a sigh.

“What?” Her head snapped up, wide-eyed.

Chuck was looking at her with barely concealed laughter, his eyes alight at the worry and annoyance mixed with anger in her features. Everything crumbled but the annoyance as she realized he was joking and they laughed together, even as she threatened to throw one of her pumps at him.

That’s when Sarah noticed he had two bowls instead of one. She pointed. “Uh, what’s that?”

“Hm?” He looked down. “Oh. Ice cream. Vanilla bean ice cream. To be exact. It’s my favorite. Extra vanilla-y.” Chuck gave her a big grin, and she had to look away from it, glancing down at her briefcase instead.

Sarah breathed in through her nose. “I mean, why do you have two bowls?”

“Oh, right. Well, you’re about to eat ice cream before dinner, so here.” He thrust one of the bowls out to her. “I gave you less to make you feel a little better about it.”

She furrowed her brow and gave him a dubious look, eyeing the bowl before reaching out to take it. “I don’t eat dessert before dinner. Sorry you went to all the trouble.”

“Heaven forbid Pinkerton’s best and brightest star switches things up a little bit,” he snarked, the pleasant sparkle in his eye completely obliterating the sarcasm she thought she’d detected at first.

Glancing down into the bowl, eyeing the little dots of ground vanilla bean in the silky white mounds of delicious ice cream he’d scooped, she found the entire prospect of surrendering to Chuck Bartowski’s peer pressure incredibly alluring. The temptation of the ice cream was filling in where his natural charm wasn’t doing the job.

She took an extra large spoonful and shoved it into her mouth viciously. She regretted it immediately when a chunk of ice cream collided with her cheek and dribbled down her chin. It would have landed in her briefcase if she hadn’t caught it with the back of her wrist. 

Chuck was there at a moment’s notice, handing her a napkin, laughing so hard his entire body was shaking.

When she swallowed and the sudden brain freeze passed, she glared at him from behind the napkin. She’d finished wiping her face, but kept the napkin in front of her face to mask the intense blush. As she felt the heat of her cheeks lessen, she lowered the napkin again and pursed her lips. “Are you finished?”

“I’m sor—I’m sorry,” he gasped, still laughing as he fell back into his chair and slumped down, still having not had any of his ice cream, Sarah mused. “That was the best thing I’ve seen in years.” His laughter died down as he used the pads of his fingers to wipe the tears of mirth from beneath his eyes. 

“I’m glad I could be a source of entertainment for you,” she groused half-heartedly, smirking down at her briefcase and setting the rest of her ice cream aside. As delicious as it had been, it turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. And her chin still felt a little sticky which was just gross.

“Oh come now. It was amazing.”

“Hardly worth the calories,” she said, raising an eyebrow even as she kept her eyes on the papers she shuffled through.

“Speak—Speaking of calories, actually…” She heard the clink of Chuck setting his bowl down on the coffee table. When she swung her gaze over to sneak a peek, she saw he’d devoured the ice cream completely. He was a marvel. How’d he always eat so quickly? And where did he put it?

Her musings died immediately when she saw the way he was nervously rubbing his hands on the thighs of his slacks. _Oh no._

“About _this morning_ …”

She almost laughed, relieved as she was by the fact that Chuck was worried about _that_ and not his mother. “Chuck, I don’t know why you’re being so weird about it. We don’t have to talk it out.”

“I just feel like I need to apologize, is all. I shouldn’t have just stood there like an idiot.”

She shook her head with a grin. “Yeah, why _did_ you just stand there forever?”

He was silent for a second, so she flicked her gaze up to him. His ears were red and he was looking down at his lap, rubbing the back of his neck a little bashfully. “I have a feeling you know why.”

When his brown eyes met hers she felt a chill go down her spine and she shut her briefcase with a snap. She cursed herself silently. That hadn’t exactly been the answer she’d been expecting, but wasn’t that one of the things that thrilled her about Chuck? His ability to keep her on her toes? Just when she thought she had him figured out, he went and said something unexpected. It was exciting and frustrating all in one. 

Sarah hadn’t actually taken the background checks out of the briefcase like she’d meant to. And now she would have to reopen it and look again and…  
She set the briefcase at her feet slowly, deciding she could always show him later on. 

“Maybe I do.” She fought to keep her features steady as she met his gaze.

His lips twitched. “I like going to the gym in the morning when it’s still kinda dark out. Because if I work out for a half hour, forty five minutes or so, and I walk back outside, the sun is up by then.” He shook his head. “It’s weird, but going in when it’s dark and coming out when it’s light makes me feel _really good_.”

She chuckled. “Like you’ve been at the gym all night?”

“Exactly!” He pointed at her and grinned again, lounging back into his chair and kicking his shoes off. “So…So, uh…you were really pounding on that punching bag, huh? You do a lot of boxing, or…?”

Sarah reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Uh, no. I didn’t box in college or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ah. Just exercise?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”

He paused. “Well, what was that thing you did? The uh, the thing…”

“The thing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows with a small smile.

“Yeah! You looked like a ninja. I thought the bag was gonna come out of the ceiling.”

“Oh. That thing. It was nothing.” She shrugged again.

“Nothing?!” He put his hands on his head, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. “Are you kidding me? It was so cool! The way you—Okay, I know. I’m being ridiculous, I’m sorry. It’s just that it was pretty impressive. That’s all I’m saying on the subject.”

She smiled and ducked her head a bit. “Thanks. It’s all part of the job.”

“Do you really use that? I mean, you fight people?”

“What part of me being your bodyguard did you not get?” He just gaped silently, his body unmoving, his eyes unblinking. It was cute, if a little cartoonish. “I have to know how to fight so that I can protect my clients, Chuck. Agent Brandon is Muay Thai champion of the New Jersey branch of Pinkerton, you know.”

“What? Nooo.” He shook his head, dubiously, his smile still present. “He’s shorter than me.”

“That has nothing to do with it. And, uh, Chuck…you’re, like, six and a half feet tall, okay? A _lot_ of people are shorter than you. _Most_ people are shorter than you.”

“Okay, granted. I just think that’s wicked awesome. So you Muay Thai?” He swung his hands around in a sad rendition of something that looked a little like kung fu, wrinkling his nose adorably and scowling.

“Sure. Yeah.”

“You do?” He scooted forward on his chair, leaning close. She didn’t sit back even though they were now much closer than was necessary for this conversation.

“I do.”

“Look, you don’t even understand how awesome this is. That’s really bad ass. You’re literally a crime fighter.” She tried to ignore the admiration in his eyes, the dreamy look on his face, but she couldn’t. It reminded her of the loud thump that had pulled her out of her zone in the gym that morning. And how when she’d turned, Chuck was standing there staring at her with the dreamiest look she’d ever seen on anyone’s face, his gym bag on its side at his feet as though it had slipped from his limp fingers.

It was obvious he’d been standing there for awhile, and it was obvious he’d been admiring her. And not just for her fighting prowess.

Sarah’s work out gear included a sports bra and tight yoga pants…and nothing else.

What’s worse, she’d even felt a little embarrassed at him seeing her that way, covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair in a messy bun at the back of her head, escaped tendrils plastered to her forehead, temples, cheeks…

But he didn’t seemed to mind much as he gawked. And then he snapped out of it, stumbled over his gym back a little, picked it up, and apologized profusely. He didn’t hear her reassurances that it was alright, that it was his company’s gym, and he was free to stay. And he practically ran out of the place like a bat out of hell.

“I’m not a character in one of your video games, Chuck.”

“No. No, you’re definitely not.” 

Was that flirting? She eyed him steadily and didn’t bother fighting the grin. “Yeah, well…real life fighting is not as easy as pressing a combination of buttons.”

“I’m sure. Have you fought bad guys and stuff?”

“What are you, eight?”

“What?” He shrugged.

“ _Bad guys?_ ”

“Yeah! The bad guys. Like the bad guys who wanna hurt my dad, who killed Bob Gerheart, who blew me up.” He tapped the bandage on his forehead and she shivered. “The bad guys.”

She sobered a little and shook her head. “What’s next? The bogeyman?”

“I bet you’d kick his ass, too.”

Sarah giggled. “They don’t teach anything that would be effective for ghosts, unfortunately.”

“Pity. But they do teach you how to fight humans.”

“They do. And to answer your question, yes. Yes, I’ve fought plenty of bad guys.”

“But the details are classified,” he boomed in a mockingly official baritone. 

She laughed again. “Sort of. Not really. Doesn’t matter. They’re all closed cases.”

He paused for awhile, squinting his eyes and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. “Have you taught other people how to fight? Grasshoppers?”

“Wh—Grasshoppers?”

“It’s a movie reference. Forget it.”

He seemed to have a lot of those up his sleeves, this guy. “Oookay. Uh…yeah I’ve taught some of the rookies, sure. But I’ve been out in the field mostly.”

“But you _have_ taught fighting tactics and stuff?”

“Yeah. Why?”

A slow smile bloomed on his face and her fingers and toes started tingling. “Can you teach me?”

Sarah Walker crashed back down to Planet Earth and gaped. “What? No.”

“No?! Why?!”

“Because!”

“Because _why_ , though?”

“Chuck, that’s the worst idea ever.”

He snorted. “Surely chicken and waffle flavored potato chips are worse.”

“Chuck…”

“Okay, seriously. I’m being serious. I’m _seriously_ asking you, please, to consider teaching me how to kick ass.”

“Well, you put it like that, okay.”

“Really?”

“No.” She smirked at the way he whined and flopped back into his chair like a thirteen year old. “Chuck, my job isn’t to teach you how to ‘kick ass’; it’s to protect you and your father and find out who’s threatening you both and why. These guys put a bomb in your pocket! You almost died!” She tried to disguise the hitch in her voice by clearing her throat. 

“I know that. But it’s like the whole thing with the guy and the fish and the fishing pole.”

“The guy and the what and the what? What are you even talking about?” she asked, having no clue where he was going with that, even though she couldn’t deny she was having a little bit of fun getting there.

“Th—The story about the man who was going hungry. And another man walks up and gives him a fishing rod and teaches him how to fish instead of just throwing a basket of fish at him and calling it a day.” 

Sarah blinked. “I think you got that wrong.”

He waved her off. “The specifics aren’t important. What’s important is the point of the story—”

“And what’s the point of the story?” she interrupted, wondering if maybe she was having too much fun.

Chuck sent an unamused look her way and crossed his arms petulantly. “What happens if I don’t have a bodyguard around and someone tries to attack me?”

“There won’t be a time when you don’t have a bodyguard.”

“What if I’m in the bathroom?”

Sarah was silent, arching an eyebrow.

Chuck’s jaw dropped. “Oh come on! You’re not seriously saying you guys are gonna follow me into the bathroom! That’s pushing it a little, don’t you th…” His voice petered out as she began to laugh. Then he narrowed his eyes, smiling a little. “Alright, you got me. Fine.”

“Turnabout’s fair play, as they say.”

“I don’t know who says that, but I wanna punch ‘em.”

“This is exactly why I can’t teach you to fight, Chuck. You’d use it to punch people who make up idioms.” She shrugged and pouted a little, earning an amused glare.

“Come on, Sarah. Please? I want to be able to defend myself! It’s important! It’s an imperative life skill! Especially for a guy like me who people want to see dead.”

“Oh? And are you going to use karate on a cell phone bomb? Chuck, there are threats self-defense classes can’t protect you from! You almost died two weeks ago because of one of those threats!”

He opened his mouth to protest. But then he hopped up instead and reached down to grab her by her wrist, hoisting her to stand in front of him. “Just show me a little somethin’ somethin’.”

“What, now? No!”

“Yeah! Come on! There’s plenty of room…” He looked around, then gestured to the wide space in the living room. “Here! Over here!” Chuck tugged her into the middle of the space and crossed his arms, stepping back. “Oh! Just a sec…” He pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it on the nearby chair. “Ready!”

“I’m not teaching you to fight.”

“Do it! Come on! I need to know how to defend myself!”

“No.” She crossed her arms and lifted a pert eyebrow.

“Yes. Please? Come on. Can’t I at least see a demonstration?” When she didn’t respond, he breached the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down a bit to look at her face to face. It was a little disorienting to be this close to him, to say the least. But she kept her calm. “Look, sooner or later, you’re gonna solve this case and we’re gonna pay you and you’re gonna be on the first jet out of here. Then I won’t have my bodyguards anymore. What if I get jumped in the parking lot and I _die_?!” he said a bit dramatically. “Surely you don’t want that, Detective Walker?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You won’t be embarrassed having to learn to fight from a girl?” she couldn’t resist teasing.

He took his hands off of her shoulders and stood to his full height, his features softening as he took her in. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “I’m pretty sure you’re not a girl, Sarah Walker. You’re most definitely a woman.”

Her insides turned to water and she thought for a moment her knees had stopped working. Not for the first time, she felt the heat of wanting something she couldn’t have creep up her neck and into her face. She cleared her throat and broke his gaze. “It’s not a good idea, me teaching you to fight.”

“Okay then, teach me how to def—” He reached his hand out to grab hers and she stepped into him, using his weight and her balance to easily flip him over her shoulder and onto his back. 

She knelt down next to the gasping future electronics CEO and smirked. “You said you wanted to see a demonstration.”

“Oh my God!” he wheezed enthusiastically. “That was awesome! Can you teach me that?”

She almost laughed at his perseverance, but instead uttered a simple “No” and walked back to the couch, sitting down, propping her briefcase on her lap and opening it to continue looking for the background checks.


	9. The Detective (Almost) Kisses the Tech Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ever read a good sexual tension scene? Well, get ready. Because you’re about to. Sexiest picnic I’ve ever read, to be quite honest. My writing buddy dettiot sure knows how to write ‘em. Hehehe. In all seriousness, the imagery and the intensity and the silliness all blend so well. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did when I read it! Onward, readers!

Never let it be said that Chuck Bartowski wasn’t the most persistent man alive. It had been a week since the night in his apartment, when they ate ice cream for dinner (somehow, they went from dessert to drinks without any dinner preceding it) and Chuck had asked her, quite insistently, to teach him how to defend himself. When she had refused, he kept asking. And asking. And asking. 

If he had been any other man, she would have described it as begging. But with Chuck, that wasn’t the right word to describe how he kept asking. It was almost … cajoling. Like he knew he had to convince her, but he knew that she wanted to help him, too. So it was just a matter of time until she gave in. 

Sarah wasn’t sure if she liked that idea. That eventually he would wear her down. Because if he convinced her to teach him self-defense, what else could he convince her to do? 

Blowing out a breath, she stopped at one of the several tiki bars scattered across a stretch of beach that had been rented by Bartowski Electronics Corporation. Today was the company’s annual founder’s day picnic and party, Chuck had explained to her a few days earlier. 

“We always celebrate the day my dad started the company by throwing a big party for all the employees. There’s the picnic and activities for the families, and then as night falls it shifts into more of a party. Music, dancing, random people getting thrown into the ocean while still in their clothes … it’s a lot of fun.” Chuck had grinned at her widely. “And since I have to be there all day, you will, too.”

“Don’t think you can catch me when my guard is down and get me to agree to this idea of teaching you my moves, Bartowski,” she had cautioned him, even as she smiled back at him. 

The memory of his reaction made her stomach flutter still. How he had looked at her for a long moment, as if there were so many things he wanted to say. He might be silent, but his eyes spoke volumes: admiration, respect, friendship … and buried down deep, a spark of longing. And seeing that spark, some perverse part of her wanted to throw some wood on the fire, make that spark become—

Nothing. Nothing was what would happen, because Chuck Bartowski was just a client. Nothing more. 

At least the bartenders at this party knew how to mix a drink, Sarah thought as she sipped her rum and Coke. A martini didn’t seem the right thing at a beach party, and besides, Chuck’s excellent take on the drink had spoiled her for anyone else’s, she suspected. 

And she was still thinking about Chuck. When she should be focused on looking for any threats to him. Even though the beach had been cordoned off and several Pinkerton agents were patrolling to prevent any non-Bartowski Electronics employees from crashing the party. 

Still … she needed to keep her eye on Chuck. Which wasn’t a hardship, she had to admit. 

After a day spent in the summer sunshine and in and out of the water, his skin had gotten a light tan that was visible in the tiki torches. The curls in his hair had become more pronounced, leading to a rumpled, tousled look that was nice. Very nice. And best of all, he was out of his usual tailored suits and into something much more casual: striped board shorts and a thin t-shirt, with bare feet and a drink of his own that he was nursing as he talked and joked with people. 

Seeing him in this setting, watching him interact with his employees … it was eye-opening. Because he was still Chuck. He was the boss, and she didn’t think any of the people surrounding him ever forgot that, but it wasn’t because of Chuck. He was friendly but respectful. He didn’t make jokes at other peoples’ expense, made sure to smile at and talk to everyone in the area. She hadn’t realized just how much of a social butterfly he was, how at ease he was with people. 

But she should have realized that, with how he had drawn her out of her shell. Normally when on assignment, she spent most of her time focused on the job. And what little time she had to herself, she usually spent doing research or working out. Ever since she had met Chuck, though, she had more of a social life than she had ever imagined.

Beside all the lunches and dinners with him, all the evenings spent enjoying martinis on his rooftop deck, there were Bartowski Electronics events like tonight, stopping to chat in the break room with various employees, the occasional lunch invite from the women at the office that Sarah told herself she accepted in order to not make waves …

Ever since the cell phone bomb, she had told herself that she needed to get back to her routine. Stay focused on the job, step up her investigation, and push aside all these distractions. After all, she had a good feeling about who was responsible for the assassination of Bob Gerheart and the attempts on Stephen and Chuck Bartowski. At least, she thought she had, until the cell phone bomb happened. That was totally outside her suspect’s MO, so she really should be digging into everything they knew about these attacks, to make sure that she was on the right path

But maybe … maybe she was overlooking a way to gather clues. Perhaps this job was different from all the others. And if she was friendly, relaxed and loosened up to outside observers, she’d find out what she needed to know in order to protect Chuck and his father. If she fitted in with these people, she might find out who wanted to hurt Chuck. 

And if that meant she drank some more rum and Cokes, danced with people, and had a good time … what would Pinkerton care if she got the job done? 

Sarah had the sense that her thinking wasn’t exactly linear. But instead of worrying about it, she tossed back the rest of her drink and then headed over to the section of beach that was for dancing. She recognized some of the people she had talked with at the office, and they welcomed her with smiles and high-fives. 

So Sarah danced.

XXX

This was an awesome party. Really, every sign of an event that would be talked about for years—lots of people laughing and talking, free-flowing booze and food, and the late hour meaning only a switch to quieter, slower songs by the DJ—was present.   
Then why did Chuck feel like he hadn’t had a good time at all? 

To anyone watching, he probably looked like a guy who was enjoying himself. He’d spent the afternoon helping at the picnic, giving piggyback rides to kids and judging the various games and awarding prizes. As the families headed home and the single people settled in for their party, he had joked around with various people that he didn’t see often enough, had some food, and had a few drinks. About the only thing he hadn’t done was let himself be drawn into the dancing going on. 

Because honestly, there was only one person he wanted to dance with. One woman. 

Throughout the day, he kept feeling Sarah’s eyes on him. He knew she was just watching him, protecting him. Serving as his bodyguard and nothing more. But whenever he tried to catch her gaze, she’d look away. Refuse to meet his eyes. 

She’d kept her distance the whole time, and he wondered if she had finally realized just who Chuck Bartowski was: a wimp who couldn’t take care of himself. A guy who was a little bit witty and could make an okay martini, but certainly not someone worthy of a woman like her. 

Rolling his eyes, Chuck finished his gin and tonic and walked to the nearest bar for another one. He’d nursed his drinks tonight, but now that the party was closer to the end than the beginning, it seemed like the time to stop pacing himself. To let loose and drink as much as he wanted. 

This bar was very close to the dancing. Since it required more alcohol than the world possessed to get him on a dance floor, Chuck just watched the dancers while feeling the gin slide down his throat. He almost did a spit-take when he caught a glimpse of Sarah. 

Setting down his drink on the closest surface, Chuck stepped closer, trying to get a better look at her. As he did, there was a little voice in the back of his head saying this might not be a good idea. But Chuck ignored it, too tempted by the allurement of Sarah Walker. 

Throughout the day she had been wearing a tank top and a denim skirt: comfortable, appropriate, and not at all flashy. With her hair back in a ponytail and a pair of sunglasses on her nose, she had fit right in. 

Now, though … the tank top had come off, revealing a white bikini top. Her hair was out of the ponytail and her sunglasses were off as she danced slowly, moving in perfect time with the music. Her eyes were closed and he wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. 

She was more than just a woman at that moment. She was a siren, calling him in. Making him, Chuck Bartowski, a man with two left feet, want to dance for the first time in his life. 

Finding himself on the edge of the dance floor, just twelve feet from Sarah, made Chuck wonder just what he was doing. But then Sarah opened her eyes and saw him. He could see her stop for a moment, then she shot him a grin. A challenging, impish, altogether delightful grin. It all but said, “Wanna dance?” 

And Chuck did. So he stepped up towards her, leaning down close to her. “Hi.” 

“Hey, Chuck,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

Chuck blinked. Was Sarah Walker tipsy? It certainly seemed that way. Just how much had she drunk? Her body was loose and relaxed and there was a teasing note in her voice, something he hadn’t ever heard before. 

Then she started moving again, and having her this close, her body brushing up against his a little, made all his thoughts drift away like the bubbles in a glass of flat champagne. 

Under the stars, with slow, soft music playing, in a crowd of people, Chuck felt like the only people in the world was him and Sarah. Her hand slowly slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck. Not quite sure what to do with his hands, he settled them lightly on her hips, trying not to touch any of the warm, golden-kissed skin revealed between her bikini top and her jean skirt. Because if he touched her, he might just lose control. 

Somehow, Chuck managed not to step on her feet. It might be his imagination, but the longer they danced, the closer they seemed to get to each other. He found himself leaning down towards her, his hands holding her hips tightly, their faces only inches apart. 

Her warm breath kept washing over his lips, making them tingle. Making his whole body tingle. As much as he wanted to just stay in this moment forever, Chuck also wanted to take that extra step. To press his lips against hers and never stop kissing her. 

But she was drunk. This wasn’t right. 

Chuck swallowed. “Sarah? Maybe I should take you home.” 

She kept her head lowered. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and sweet as honey. 

“Because … because you seem a little tipsy and I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said, trying not to shudder from just how sexy her voice sounded. 

Sarah pulled back and looked up at him. Looked at him for the first time since they had started dancing, he realized. And he saw that she was absolutely not tipsy. Her eyes were steady, her cheeks were just slightly pink, and her hand loosened on the back of his neck. Not holding on to him in order to stay upright, but holding on to him because—

And now she was leaning in towards him, and Chuck felt his mouth go dry even as his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and all he could see was Sarah and everything was Sarah and she was going to kiss him!

Suddenly, there was a slap on his back and Sarah’s lips were brushing against his jaw. Chuck looked around and saw that two drunk employees, staggering past them, must have bumped or pushed against him at precisely the wrong time. 

He whipped his head around and looked at Sarah, who had stepped back from him. Her face was carefully, determinedly blank. Her eyes were a flat blue, no longer sparkling and alive and wanting him. 

“You’re right, I should get home,” she said, her voice even and professional and very, very calm. “Have a good night, Chuck.” 

As he watched, she turned and walked away, heading towards the parking lot. He wasn’t able to speak in time to say goodbye, or ask her what had just happened, or find out whether he had just dreamed the dance and the almost kiss and this whole wonderful, awful night. 

End.


	10. The Detective Kicks the Tech Guy's Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think SteampunkChuckster’s ability to write amazing fic is on full display in this chapter. Because the way she shifts from silly to sexy and back again, without becoming too goofy or over-the-top, is extremely impressive in this one. Honestly, this feels like an episode of Chuck that we didn’t get--if Sarah had been a Pinkerton detective and Chuck was just a genius at a software company, that is. :-) I bet you’ll feel the same way when you’re done reading The Detective Kicks the Tech Guy’s Ass.

Chuck felt excitement build as he walked beside Sarah towards the dojo.

Okay. Admittedly, it wasn't a dojo. He'd cleared an area towards the back of the gym and put mats down on the floor. And then he'd called it a dojo.

"So do I call you Master Walker?" he chirped, swinging his gym bag over his shoulder jauntily and grinning at her profile. Thankfully, Sarah was wearing an actual shirt this time on top of her sports bra. At least, he assumed she was wearing her sports bra underneath. He hadn't asked.

He thought maybe if he ever asked Detective Walker anything like that, she'd most likely destroy his manhood with a single movement that he'd barely see until the searing pain cascaded through his entire body and he hit the floor in a half-dead heap.

"No," she answered a bit crisply.

"Right. No Master Walker then."

His heart was racing as he gave her a side-glance, his eyes sweeping down her tall, proud figure. Her hair was up and she was in athletic wear, but it did nothing to diminish the strength of her extreme beauty. Her loveliness. That was a good word, he thought to himself—lovely. She was so lovely. And…

Hmm…she has makeup on. Why is she wearing makeup this early in the morning?

A thought occurred to him that was perhaps a little silly, but maybe not so much. Was Sarah Walker wearing makeup because she was meeting him? He hadn't noticed either way on that morning he walked in on her kicking the punching bag's ass. But now he wished he had. Then he might know for sure.

God, not that she needs it.

He felt his heartbeat in places other than just his chest as he remembered the feral look in her eye as she went to town on that bag…the grunts she made as she pounded her fists into the leather. Her heaving chest beneath the sports bra.

Blinking quickly, he swiped his card to unlock the gym door and held it open for her. "I—" His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. "I started a little area in the back where we…" She was walking in the opposite direction, passing the elliptical machine and the pull-up bars, towards the door at the back corner. "Uh…Sarah? I made an area over here I thought we'd use."

Sarah ignored him and pulled the door open, gesturing him inside. When he stepped in, the lights flickered on, as they were activated by motion sensors.

There were mirrors lining the walls and blue mats placed so that they covered most of the floor. "Wow, you did this?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"Mmm." She pulled her sneakers off as she answered distractedly. "Hope it's okay, but I figured not many of your employees would need the dance studio for awhile. If ever."

He watched her grab onto one of the ballet bars and place her foot on it. Even with the stretchy cloth covering them all the way to her ankle, her legs were freaking fantastic. And powerful. And…Hot damn, she's flexible. Her nose was pressed to her knee as she stretched and a rush of heat swept through him.

Wait…ballet bars?

"Are we doing ballet?" A spike of fear shot through him. Fighting he could do. Dancing? Maybe, depending on the steps. He could probably learn tango or the waltz if he had a good enough teacher. But Charles Bartowski wasn't exactly known for his gracefulness. Ballet? No.

Impress the beautiful ass-kicking agent with your pliés, Bartowski.

Sarah snorted and commenced stretching. "Do some stretching before we start. You'll pull something. I guarantee it. And no, we're not doing ballet."

"Oh. Ha. Right. That makes sense. Stretching." He decided to forego the bar, as he wasn't nearly as limber as she was. And he had long legs just like she did, but they didn't look as great in his gray drawstring pants.

She swung her foot down, lifting her other leg onto the bar, and Chuck sat on the floor, stretching with his back purposefully to her. "So did you ever do ballet?"

He saw in the mirror that she shook her head to herself with a small smile, wrapping her hands around her foot and leaning down so that her nose touched her knee again.

"What? It's a simple question," he said, looking at her over his shoulder.

Sarah eyed him for a moment, then continued stretching. "No. I never did ballet."

"Too intense for you?" He hummed the theme from Swan Lake cryptically.

She scoffed and put her leg back down, stretching her arms and ambling up to him. "You do realize I work for the foremost private detective agency in the world, right?"

In all honesty, he found himself skirting over that fact quite often where she was concerned. But he wouldn't admit that out loud, so he just nodded quickly. "Uh, right. That you do. Nothing more intense than that."

"Some things are," she replied with a cute shrug. "Okay, come on. Get up."

"What are you showing me, then? Muay Thai?" He began pulling his shirt off.

"That isn't my specialty and that's not the best thing to start with. Wh—What are you doing?" Her cheeks were tinged pink and she took a step forward, almost like it was in spite of herself. And her staggeringly unusual blue eyes pointed like daggers at his lower stomach. It sent a thrill through him.

"We're doing martial arts stuff!" he explained, stalling in his movements so that his shirt was tugged up around his shoulders, showcasing a little more of his chest. He watched her swallow quickly, her eyes still sliding up and down his body.

"Chuck, you're not Bruce Lee. Put your shirt back on."

"W—Oh." He felt himself flush and smoothed his shirt back down his front. As embarrassing as his faux pas was, he hadn't missed the effect it had on Sarah. Even now, she was rubbing a finger over an eyebrow and pointedly looking at her cute bare feet. "Sorry."

The look she gave him was a little dubious, quietly questioning how sorry he really was. And he suddenly felt a little warm in the usually frigid dance studio.

Peeling her gaze from his, she walked out into the center of the room with a smirk and turned to wave him closer.

He felt nerves twist in his stomach but instead of letting it show, he smiled a little and kicked his shoes and socks off, padding with bare feet out onto the mat. The smile would effectively mask his nerves. He was sure.

"Don't be nervous, Chuck."

Wow, you're a regular Daniel Day-Lewis, Bartowski.

"I've just…This is new for me. Ya know? I never took karate like the other kids. Or played sports, really. I read and played video games and had a hard time killing the spiders that snuck into my house." She just lifted an eyebrow in question. "I would pick 'em up and put 'em outside. So…yeah. My parents didn't think karate was a good idea."

"That's pretty cute," she said in a quiet voice, her gaze soft and highly amused.

He felt himself blush. "Yeah, well."

"Hey, let me remind you that you're the one who wanted to do this."

"I know! I know. I still do."

"Just do what I say and don't worry about looking ridiculous, okay?"

"Right. Wh—Hey. Who says I'm gonna look ridiculous?" History, he answered abnormally gawky stature you were born with, he added. You're a nerd.

"Chuck, I am not implying that you'll look ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling with a grin. "But people learning things like this for the first time are always a little unsure of themselves. I'm just giving you advice. I'm your teacher. That's what I do."

"That makes sense. Although I wouldn't blame you if you thought I—" His voice drifted off and he gestured to his figure. "I'm kind of tall and, oh…ungainly. As it were."

Suddenly, she was much much closer, and her hands were purposefully feeling up his biceps, squeezing his muscles. He inadvertently flexed and felt stupid for it, but she didn't seem to mind or even notice as she looked seriously into his face. There was no flirtation or playfulness there. Just a deep blue gaze and God, she had such soft hands. But they were so strong, too.

"You are definitely not a weakling, Chuck. You're strong. And I've seen you display great amounts of focus at the office." Her hands slid down his arms, her fingers grazing over the backs of his hands, around to his palms for just a moment, and then she wasn't touching him anymore. "So I'm going to teach you some aikido."

"That sounds awesome!" he exclaimed softly, still feeling the ghost of her touch on his arms. He took in the slightly amused but mostly impatient look she threw him and he held his hands up in defense. "Right, sorry. I'm listening. Focusing."

"Good. Aikido is a specific martial art that ensures your safety, while also protecting the person who is attacking you."

"Why would I wanna do that?"

"What?"

"If I'm being attacked by a bad guy, wouldn't I wanna knock 'em out? You know, punch 'em in the face or something?"

She shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The storminess that was in her pretty blue eyes before she shut them was gone when she opened them back up again. "Says the guy who refuses to kill spiders. Chuck. For now, I'm focusing on teaching you the basics of aikido because it's the best form of defense. And I know it better than anything else."

He nodded. "Sorry. Okay. I used to get in trouble a lot in class because I asked a lot of questions."

"You can ask questions, Chuck. I prefer you ask questions. But try to just work with me here for a little while, okay?"

"Got it." He gave her a closed-mouth smile and put his hands on his hips, waiting for her to continue.

"Now, aikido is especially handy if you're a woman because it requires less physical strength and instead relies on quick movements, using your opponent's momentum…Basically turning their attack against them. It's about balance, stance, and speed. And the ability to read your opponent's movements."

Chuck nodded and held up a finger. "So, uh, it's like redirecting their attack instead of meeting it head on like you would in other disciplines."

Her eyes lit up. "Exactly, Chuck."

Warmth spread through his body in the form of pride as he saw her eyes slide up his body and to his face, seemingly impressed by him. He unconsciously stood a little taller. "I get it. That's pretty cool."

"It is pretty cool. Okay. So I'll show you. And don't worry. I won't hurt you." She took a few steps back and bent her knees a little, spreading her legs a few feet apart.

"Uh…Just come at you?"

"Yeah. Come at me and try to hit me." Chuck swallowed, not quite liking the sound of trying to hit Sarah Walker. But he was confident that no matter where he tried to hit her, she'd make sure he was unsuccessful. The woman was a ninja, he was certain. A beautiful, flawless ninja with eyes like Mother Nature and a smile that sometimes made him incandescently happy, and other times made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her. Hard.

Shaking his head and forcing himself to focus, he ran at her, swinging his fist forward.

Her movements were so rapid, he barely saw what happened. One moment, she was focused on him, unmoving, and the next he felt her hand on his wrist, she ducked under his arm, turned so that her back was against his chest, and the world swung past his vision until he felt his back slam into the mat.

He blinked at the ceiling for a moment, the parts of him that she'd touched tingling still. Her face moved into view and she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah. That was…I didn't see that coming."

"That's the point."

He sat up, his face only a few inches from hers. She didn't shrink back at the closeness. "You're gonna teach me that?"

"Mhm."

He scrambled up to his feet and turned to face her, watching as she stood and put her hands on her hips. "I'm ready to learn, Sensei Sarah."

This caused her to giggle a little and he stopped to listen because it was the nicest thing he'd ever heard. "Don't call me Sensei. I haven't earned that title. Just…stick to Sarah. Please."

"Right. Got it. Teach me the flippy."

"It's not a flippy." She got into position again. "Okay, come at me slower and grab me."

"Are you asking for slow motion Chuck?"

"Uh, sure."

"Right." He walked towards her in slow motion and swung his hand around towards her shoulder like he had before, making to curl his fingers around her shoulder. She repeated the first action before he could touch her, latching onto his wrist.

"Okay, stop here. See how I grabbed your wrist?"

"Mhm."

"And then I step into your body…" She turned and her back was flush against his chest again. Now that they were moving a lot slower, it was all the more evident just how close she was standing, and how she smelled—like some unknown flower that was subtle and warm and reminded him of summer—and the tiny pale scar at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. "The trick," she interrupted his reverie so suddenly that he almost jumped, "is that I'm using your momentum. I know your fist is coming at me on my left, so most of your momentum will be right here." She held her fist up. "Now that I know this, I bend a little lower."

He swallowed as she crouched a little, her behind dangerously close to making contact with his groin. He ached to touch her, to push himself a little further into her, feel her flush against him.

"And I throw you in the direction your momentum was taking you." She used the hand on his wrist to tug so that he ended up with some of his weight against her back. The movement made him a little nervous, so he grabbed at her waist, his nose and lips against her ear and hair for a moment. But when he thought he was going to end up with his back to the mat again, she set him back and stood, moving away and facing him, her chest heaving a little as she licked her lips and met his gaze. "Did you get that?"

She quickly reached up to feel her ear he'd had his lips against and turned it into tucking her hair away from her face. He watched closely and felt tingles in his body. "Y-Yeah. Wrist, turn under the attacker's arm, use the momentum to throw them in the direction it was taking them. The momentum, that is."

"Right. Exactly! The main thing is to take advantage of your opponent's momentum and lack of control." She got into position, her blue eyes serious. And maybe he was fooling himself, but he didn't think he was…Her gaze was a little heated, her cheeks flushed. It couldn't be from exertion because they hadn't done much. All he knew was that whatever he was feeling at that moment, she was probably feeling it too. Instead of batting it away like he normally would have done, he was reminded of the office party, when she had almost kissed him. The way her soft lips had felt on his skin when he was bumped into and her kiss had been misdirected. The look in her eyes that wasn't merely flirtation, but something else.

Something deeper and more passionate than just that.

He moved towards her quickly, attempting to throw her off by coming at her other side, but she wasn't fooled at all, and her warm fingers clamped down on his forearm. Their bodies pressed together for a glorious moment and the fingers of his other hand grazed her hip bone. Chuck retained his focus, nevertheless, feeling his attack redirected as he slammed into the ground again. He climbed back to his feet, meeting her heated gaze, and came at her again without waiting to catch his breath.

He did it over and over and over, each time doing his best to really feel her against him, especially for that moment they were touching. Chuck knew she was doing the same. He saw it in her face. She was focused though, as he was. Serious about her movements. But she wasn't shying away from enjoying it, just like he wasn't. He was sure of it because she didn't seem to want to bother hiding it from him.

It was incredibly and mind-blowingly sexy.

They practiced for almost half an hour, Sarah showing him moves in slow motion, sometimes demonstrating by throwing him to the mat. Strangely enough, none of it hurt. The suddenness of the moves she demonstrated was what really got to him, and it left him stunned for a few seconds afterwards.

He had to admit, while he had been excited to learn how to knock a guy's lights out, this was way more exciting. Aikido was way more awesome than that. And safer, as Sarah had pointed out numerous times during the lesson. And it meant they were touching each other. A lot. And God, but he swore they were both enjoying it. Despite the lack of flirtation in it. It was something better, something more serious than mere flirtation.

It was pure and unadulterated heat.

"Okay." She brought her hands together, her eyes focused and piercing. And, he couldn't help but noticed, satisfied. Or pleased. Or both.

"Are we done already?" he asked, trying not to show how much she had him panting. And not just from the exertion of the aikido. They couldn't be done. He didn't want to be done.

"No, you're gonna put your lessons to use now. Throw me."

Why did that sound so hot? Oh yeah. Because for the last half hour, they'd been grabbing each other, pinning each other, touching and grasping. And Sarah hadn't shown even a moment's restraint, not even a bit of shying away—the way she'd run away after she almost kissed him at the party.

It was confusing, but he pushed that to the side. This was good. He was going to embrace this. Go with it. And hope she did the same.

"Which one do I do?"

She smirked a bit mischievously and shrugged one shoulder. "Improvise."

"What? Already improvising? What is this, the advanced course?"

"When you learn aikido from Sarah Walker, there's no such thing as a beginner's course. Now come on. Get in stance."

He felt embarrassed as he spread his legs apart and bent his knees. Chuck knew he had to look awkward with his long limbs and what his mother always called his "sticky legs". With a blush, he tentatively looked up at her.

She smiled patiently and walked up to him. "Here, let's see what I can do about this."

Her hand was suddenly on the small of his back, her front pressed close to his side and her lips near his ear. "May I?" she asked, her breath fanning a curl at his temple.

He swallowed.

Yes, please.

"Uh, yeah! Of course. Yeah." He swallowed again and she nodded, stepping even closer so that her very strength and intelligence and grace and steadiness were practically surrounding him. Her warm hand had somehow made his shirt ride up and her fingers were touching the sliver of skin revealed. A shiver wracked through his body as the hand slid up his back along his spine. He automatically straightened his back.

"There. Straight back."

Then she had her other hand on his thigh, speaking to him in soft, relaxing tones, her fingers squeezing him as she moved his leg a little. Then she rounded to his other side and did the same.

She was driving him crazy. And he could see in her that her purposeful movements were affecting her in the exact same way. It was a little comforting, not being alone in the situation. Knowing she was being pulled into the heat storm along with him.

But it was also a little frightening. Because at some point, everything would snap or explode or implode and he was afraid to think about what would happen then. He couldn't think of it now and lose focus. He had to make good on this aikido training. He promised himself he would, especially when Sarah agreed against her better judgment to teach him.

He owed her that.

"Like this?" he asked, turning to look at her. With him in the stance, their faces were perfectly aligned as she nodded.

"That's it."

When she stepped away, he was both disappointed and incredibly relieved.

"Come at me, brah," he teased, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips.

"Serious, Chuck. Keep your head clear."

"Sorry," he mumbled, properly admonished. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and opened them again. "Ready."

She didn't give him much warning as she leapt at him. It wasn't exactly second nature, but he didn't have to think too hard to notice which direction her momentum was taking her. He had her waist in his right hand, her right wrist in his left hand, before he twisted, going to a knee and swinging her over his back.

Sarah flipped expertly and landed on her back with a grunt. He wasted no time climbing over her and gently resting his knee on her sternum. She beamed widely, a little out of breath, gently laying her hand on his leg and squeezing in congratulations. "That was great! Not perfect, but really good, Chuck."

"Thanks," he breathed, lifting his knee and reaching down to help her up.

She took his hand with a grateful smile.

Suddenly her foot was on his chest and she gave his arm a hard yank, flipping him over so that he fell onto his back with a loud thump. He rolled onto his stomach but before he could even think, he felt her weight on his torso and his arm was pinned behind his back a bit uncomfortably.

"Ah, ah…okay. Uncle!"

"We're not on the middle school playground, Chuck."

"What?!" He looked at her over his shoulder with wide eyes. "Your middle school had a playground?!"

She ignored him. "You have to be on your guard. If you let your guard down for even a moment, they get the upper hand. They get the upper hand, you could get hurt." She let his arm go and he winced, stretching it out a little at his side.

"Right. Was that an aikido move? That flip you just did?"

Her weight shifted and suddenly he felt a lot of her body against his and he felt her breath against his ear. "No. It wasn't aikido. Good old-fashioned freestyle," she said softly. Holy Jesus, her hands were on him. He could feel them burning through his flimsy cotton T-shirt. She was so strong. And so exciting. And he wanted to learn aikido. But then he wanted to learn her. All of her. Forever.

Her warmth left him as she rolled onto the mat and climbed to her feet. She reached her hands down for him to grab and pulled him to his feet when he complied.

He flipped her a dozen different times after that, and every time she landed safely and softly, correcting him here and there, but mostly having nothing but words of encouragement and a bit of pride he was happy to note. The heat never left them. It was a silent agreement almost, a bit of competition and tension, and there was no other way to put it—a lot of lust. A deep thread of need. Of sex. And a warmth mingling with it all that couldn't be denied.

"Okay. Good. Now…" She walked around him and went to the corner where a wooden staff awaited. "Usually this is taught with a wooden rifle, but a staff works just as well for what we're doing."

She picked it up and spun it to wedge under her arm. Chuck couldn't help but be impressed, just by the way she seemed to make every movement look easy, when he knew for a fact that it was incredibly difficult. His limbs ached from using muscles he hadn't used before. But he was on fire. Pumped. Ready to impress her again. Impress himself, even.

Suddenly the staff was flying towards him and his reflexes saved him from having it smack long-ways into his chest.

"Good catch," she said, her lips tilting up in a small smirk. He matched that smirk and moved the staff to his right hand, clutching it tightly. She moved close again and put her hands over his, repositioning his grip so that the staff was pointed in front of him and he held it like a rifle. "Good. Like this. Just run straight at me like you're going to jab me in the stomach."

She must have caught the momentary panic in his face because she smiled. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

With a single nod, he waited for her to get into position and zoomed forward. She clamped a hand down on the staff and he felt her other hand push against his shoulder. It was so quick and powerful that he tripped on his own feet and slammed back first onto the mat.

He stared up at her with wide eyes and then clambered to his feet quickly. Then he held out his hand for the staff and she smiled a little and gave it back.

He went back into position and came at her from the left, the right, above, below. With quick movements, using his attack against him, she disarmed him and had him on his back each time. Staff training ended up being disappointingly lacking in touching each other except for a hand to a shoulder or hip here and there, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. Watching her quick movements, the strength of her muscles as she threw him. Studying her. Learning from her.

After a few minutes, she took the staff from him and ran at him to attack. It was sudden, unexpected, and he wasn't ready. She hadn't even done a slow motion demonstration for him yet. But he reacted as well as he could, grabbing the staff with both hands and catching her with his shoulder so that she let go of the weapon as he yanked it upwards. His movement had so much power in it that the wood slapped him painfully on the cheek.

Chuck staggered backwards with a yelp, but kept his feet, his cheek stinging like a bitch.

Sarah was at his side immediately, grabbing the staff and tossing it away, probably to prevent him from harming himself again, he thought moodily. But then her cool hand was on his cheek and her body was so close to his. He couldn't help but let his hands rest on her hips.

Her concerned features were almost too much for him to take.

"Are you okay? That was a wicked whip you gave yourself there."

"No, I'm—Just my pride," he breathed. He wanted to sink to the floor in embarrassment. But she had a hand on his waist, supporting him, while the thumb of her other hand gently stroked his injured cheek. Magically, he felt that instead of the sting that had been there moments before and he unconsciously stepped closer.

Suddenly he realized he was raising his hand up to her face and as gently as he could, he brushed back a lock of hair that had escaped her braid, his fingers lightly stroking the curve of her ear.

And then they were even closer and his heart was beating madly in his chest. And the warmth of her was intoxicating, the light sheen of sweat on her collar bone, her parted lips and stormy gaze. And all he could think about was how strong and beautiful she was. And how she hadn't wanted to teach him to defend himself. She'd been adamant. But she came down here at some point last night and lined the dance studio with mats, and shook him out of a deep sleep early this morning.

Even though she hadn't wanted to do this, she had dragged him here like a mother drags a petulant kid to his first day of school.

And then they'd spent the last hour clashing, hands grasping at each other, bodies grinding together, pinning each other to the mat, skin grazing, exchanging heated looks. Lusting after each other, even while they were focusing on the lessons, using that incomprehensibly delicious power to up the ante of the competition between them.

It was quite possibly the best hour of his life, and everything was on fire. Inside him. Around him. Fire everywhere. Heat everywhere.

Everything she'd done for him since she first walked into the office after he'd called Pinkerton and asked for their best flashed before his eyes. God, she had to be their best. No one else was better. It was impossible.

She was everything.

And for a moment, she was his.

He leaned his face close so that their noses brushed and everything inside of him burned to pull her against him. He felt her elbow in his hand, her soft cheek against his fingers, her breath on his lips. He felt them both quite nearly vibrating, and he tugged her into him, causing her to elicit a short gasp as their fronts made contact. And he dove in for a kiss.

A loud rumble sounded beneath them and Sarah jolted in surprise. Chuck's eyes slipped shut and he blushed deeply, his lips mere centimeters from hers. He hung his head and slapped his hand over his stomach.

"Um…" he heard Sarah mumble.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

"See? Breakfast. It's important," he tried lamely.

She laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear and stepping back a safe distance. Her blue eyes were unfocused, her pretty features a little guarded, but not completely. So he took that as a good sign, as miserable as he felt at the moment. "That's probably good enough for today." His heart fell to his feet. "And your cheek already looks fine."

Probably because he was blushing so hard it masked the welt that was liable to spring up where he'd hit himself, Chuck thought glumly.

"Great. Yeah. I think I'll call Pete and have him bring food on his way to the office. You want anything?"

"Just a coffee. If he's already getting something."

Chuck nodded and took a step back, his foot landing on the edge of the mat. It was only two inches from the wooden floor, but it was enough when his foot slipped and he wasn't expecting it. He staggered a little and Sarah took a protective step forward, but he was fine, albeit incredibly embarrassed again.

"I'm gonna call Pete and hop in the shower," he tried to say without stuttering. He accomplished at least that much today.

"You did good today, Chuck."

He stopped and turned towards her, his gym bag and sneakers in hand. "I did?"

"You're a really good student," she nodded.

A slow smile bloomed on his face and he was filled with all sorts of feelings he didn't have the energy or need to define. All he knew was that they'd almost kissed. And while the moment was over, he felt the existence of a promise.

Because Sarah wasn't running. She was standing steadily in place, still so beautiful, her gaze meeting his steadily. They were on the same page. He knew it. And he was incomprehensibly thrilled. "Well, you're a pretty good teacher."

She smiled back and he left the "dojo", hoping she'd leave it the way it was so that they could come back again. Maybe tomorrow.

And he'd be sure to have his breakfast first.


	11. The Detective Tries to Shower Off the Tech Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chemistry. It’s one of the things dettiot excels at when it comes to her fic. And the fact that she can create that chemistry in a chapter in which Chuck and Sarah aren’t even in the same room, when we’re only getting to see Sarah’s POV…? Phew. Ladies and Gentlemen...I give you leave to shower her with praise. Go. Go and do it. And enjoy this quintessentially dettiot piece of DATG.

Sarah Walker had amazing powers of concentration. She had always been praised for her ability to focus, to block out any interruptions that would disrupt the job at hand. Beyond her hand-to-hand training and impressive marksmanship scores, her mind was her greatest weapon. 

So the fact that she could not stop thinking about Chuck Bartowski’s chest was really, really bad. 

Honestly? She had seen better chests. Really. Ones that were more impressively muscled, without a tiny little belly pooch like Chuck’s. Ones that were less hairy, showing every bit of definition to each muscle, as compared to the dusting of hair over his pecs and abs. 

Although his skin looked very smooth. Smooth and tanned and not scarred at all. For a computer nerd who spent a lot of time crouched over a desk, his torso was nice. Very nice. And when he had stopped, with his shirt half-off, it was all she could do not to reach out and oh-so-lightly stroke—

She had to stop this. 

Yanking the holder from her ponytail, Sarah shook out her hair and started the shower, keeping the dial firmly in the middle. The last thing she needed right now was hot water. 

After shucking off her sweaty clothes, she stepped into the shower stall and immediately immersed herself in the lukewarm water. Closing her eyes, she took long, deep breaths. She had to cool off. 

He had good arms. 

Maybe not as defined as other men she had known. But his biceps were firm and toned. He had flexed when she touched him and she had been able to feel the solid mass of muscle. And when she had drawn her fingers down his arms, feeling his smooth, warm skin …

Sarah opened her eyes and grimaced. Taking a step back, she leaned against the cool tiles, gazing up at the ceiling. 

During the aikido lesson, it had been different. She had let herself get caught up in it all. Touching Chuck in a way that was explainable, justifiable. Feeling his eyes on her body and her face and not avoiding it. Looking her fill at him, taking in all six foot four of him and just … marveling. At the package that contained this smart, funny, amazingly kind man. Marveling and wondering just why he was so interested in her. 

Was it the mystery? The fact that she held him at arm’s length? (Not that she really was. He had wormed his way past her defenses dozens of times in the two and a half months she’d been in California.) 

Could it be just something physical? Her appearance made him hot? (Then why did he seem to enjoy spending time with her? Joking with her? And why had he never made an actual move on her until earlier today?)

Or did Chuck just get off on a woman who was off-limits? (If she wasn’t working for his father—for him—she wouldn’t be off-limits. She would have kissed him already. More than kiss him.)

What was the sense in denying it? First the almost-kiss at the beach party, then his approaching her during the lesson today … they had chemistry. Chemistry that she hadn’t really let herself think about, hadn’t let herself consider, until now. Because she liked Chuck Bartowski. He was funny, sweet, a good listener …

She had tried to put him in the friend box. There was no sense in treating him like just a client; he had become a friend to her so quickly that it was too late to return to a professional relationship. And she could handle being friends with a client. It could even help—could make her do her job that much better, kept the client from resenting her constant presence. 

But a friend and client that she found attractive? More than attractive—dizzyingly handsome, magnetic, downright hot? That was bad. 

Pinkerton had strict rules about fraternization between agents and clients. To sum up pages and pages of rules, it all came down to one word: don’t. If she gave in to whatever this was with Chuck, she’d be fired. 

Pushing off from the wall, Sarah picked up her shampoo and started washing her hair. There was no way she could give in to this fire. But that didn’t mean she had to douse the fire entirely, did it? 

Could it work? Could they wait until the time was right, until her assignment here was over? Because once Chuck wasn’t her client, he could be more than her friend.

As she rinsed the shampoo from her hair, Sarah considered this idea. Over the last two weeks, her investigation had picked up steam. She was fairly certain who was the person behind the murder of Bob Gerheart, the attacks on Stephen and Chuck, even the cell phone bomb: Martin Rosebreen, a small-time electronics manufacturer who used to be based in San Francisco. He had moved to LA only to find that Gerheart and Bartowski had the market cornered between their two companies. The potential merger between the two companies, after years of fighting, would have spelled Rosebreen’s doom. So everything he had done, allegedly, was to keep Bartowski Electronics and Gerheart Gears at each other’s throats. 

She just needed more proof, some kind of smoking gun to tie Rosebreen to the chain of events. Then the job would be done except for the paperwork, and she could find out just what this thing with Chuck might be. 

He was dangerous. A man that she liked, that she found interesting and charming and engaging, as well as finding him attractive in a stomach-fluttering, knees-weakening way … a man that she wanted to touch and kiss while drinking martinis and laughing. 

Running towards danger instead of away from it was the hallmark of a Pinkerton agent. It was what she was good at. But somehow, Sarah suspected that in this case, she’d be tested to her limits. Because every instinct she had said to run. Run far, far away while pushing down all these strange feelings. Pushing them down until she could forget about them. 

But somehow, Sarah doubted she could forget Chuck Bartowski.

End.


	12. Up on the Roof with the Detective and the Tech Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the perfect example of why playing in this AU is so much fun. I think my favorite part is dettiot’s wonderfully apt handling of Chuck especially. The way he thinks, what he says, how he handles the situation--it’s just so Chuck. And that’s hard to do in an AU, when Chuck and Sarah are coming from such different places than in canon. Enjoy “Up on the Roof”! And I hope you get the song stuck in your head, too. Moo ha ha.

Even before someone had tried to blow Chuck up with a cell phone, Sarah had made a point of picking him up at his apartment and driving him to and from work on random days. Chuck hadn’t complained about having a beautiful woman drive him in the Porsche that she handled like a race car driver. 

Yet over the last few weeks … the time they spent together had more meaning. Ever since the one-two punch of the beach party and the aikido lesson, ever since each of them had attempted to initiate a kiss only to be interrupted, it was like the air between them was charged. Crackling with electricity, a spark that kept searching for an outlet. 

Somehow, they had both managed to keep the spark tamped down below critical mass. Chuck was frankly shocked that they hadn’t just grabbed each other and made use of the nearest horizontal surface. 

For a moment, his eyes glazed over, imagining what it would be like. To touch every inch of her golden skin, to see those stormy blue eyes look up at him and want him …

Chuck shook his head, banishing the images. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. Not when they were so close to the end. 

Just yesterday, Sarah had made some kind of breakthrough in the case. She had burst into his office, her face flushed and her eyes bright. She had been so pleased to have a potential evidence trail to Martin Rosebreen, a low-level computer maker that Chuck barely knew. Honestly, he hadn’t suspected Rosebreen at all, but Sarah was convinced that he was the guy. 

With evidence, she would be able to go to the police. Wrap up her investigation. Leave. 

That is, if he couldn’t find a way to keep her here. With him. 

Taking a deep breath, Chuck looked over at Sarah. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly as she turned into the parking structure under his building. Every night that she dropped him off, he invited her in. At first, it was about getting her to relax. To loosen up and have some downtime. Then it was because he wanted to spend time with her, wanted to get to know her. 

Now … he needed to grasp whatever time he had left with her. Needed to learn more about her so he could make her see why she should give him a chance.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” he asked quietly. 

He could see her nibbling on her lower lip. She was hesitating, struggling with herself. And part of him wished he could just ask her what she was so scared of. Why she was fighting this magical, undeniable connection that existed between them. But the bigger part, the smarter part, knew that he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t attempt to pin her down like that, because it would mean she would send him flying through the air. And unlike in their aikido lessons, she wouldn’t hold back. She’d push him away so hard that he’d feel something break when he landed. 

The nod of her head was tiny. He did a double-take and felt his jaw drop open when she pulled into a parking spot and turned off her car. She looked at him for a moment, her chin lifted defiantly as if daring him to say anything. But her eyes were like oceans churning during a storm. 

“Yes? Really?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Great! Let’s go inside. It’s a beautiful night—we could sit up on the deck. Let’s go.” 

He hopped out of the car quickly, cursing himself a little for being so giddy at the thought of Sarah wanting to spend time with him. Wishing he could be smoother, cooler at the prospect. But he couldn’t. 

She was spending the evening with him.

XOXOXO

At first, she had been able to resist his invitations. Back when she first started this assignment and she still didn’t know him that well, even with a full dossier on him. But the dossier was just facts on the page; the reality of Charles Bartowski was very different.

Every time she dropped him off at his condo, he had invited her in for a drink, for a snack, for dinner. ”You’re not a Pinkerton agent 24/7—you need time to relax,” he would say.

And at first, she had turned him down. Given him a smile and then driven off, all the while thinking of how much more fun it would be to spend an evening with him. But then, a few days after the cell phone incident, she had given in. Before he even asked her in, she had turned to him and said, “Do you have wine?”

"Yes," he had replied immediately. "Come in and we’ll order a pizza."

So ever since that first time, she let herself unwind in his company. Let herself become his friend and have his friendship in return. And although the nature of that friendship had changed under the surface, she couldn’t seem to stop wanting to spend time with him. She didn’t let herself agree to every invitation. But tonight … tonight there had been no answer but yes. 

She nearly had Rosebreen. It would be the matter of a few days before she could go to the police and arrange for his arrest. And that would mean the end. Of walking into Bartowski Electronics and seeing Chuck. Of giving him more aikido lessons. Of quick lunches and long, leisurely evenings spent drinking together. 

Of everything that made her feel truly alive. 

Chuck Bartowski was addictive. His funny jokes that she didn’t always understand, his wide smiles, his sweetness and his kindness. And when that was in a man who was absolutely gorgeous, who made her stomach flutter with butterflies … She didn’t want this assignment to end, didn’t want to find out what would happen when she didn’t have a reason to see him. Yet she also wanted to catch Rosebreen and the men who had tried to blow him up. Make them rue the day they had heard the name “Charles Bartowski.”

Sarah followed Chuck as they walked into his apartment. He was babbling, talking about enjoying the view on the rooftop deck and how long it had been since he had actually watch the sun sink below the horizon. She listened, nodding occasionally but too caught up in her thoughts to truly contribute. 

He paused by the wine rack, falling silent as if sensing she wasn’t really listening. Then, he reached out and lightly touched her shoulder, sending a spark through her and shaking her out of her daze. ”Why don’t you go up to the deck and I’ll bring the wine?” His voice was gentle, soft. Like he was handling her with kid gloves.

And normally she hated being handled. But with Chuck, it wasn’t about exerting his dominance or power over her. It was about taking care of her. 

Gazing at him, she nodded and turned towards the stairs. There was a small balcony off Chuck’s bedroom, with a spiral staircase that led to the rooftop deck.

When she stepped onto the deck, Sarah took a deep breath. It was a gorgeous evening. The sun was just beginning to set, the sky turning a pinky-orange. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the view was breathtaking.

She could feel the muscles in her shoulders and back slowly unclench. This was what she needed after today, after this week. She needed this place that felt out of time, away from all the emotions that were clouding her mind and making her think too hard about things she didn’t want to be thinking about. Like endings.

XOXOXO

By the time Chuck stepped out onto the deck, carrying a bottle of red wine under his arm and a plate and two glasses in his hands, he had managed to calm down. To remember that until the assignment was over, Sarah was technically working for his father and it wouldn’t be appropriate for anything to happen between them. For now, they had to be friends, albeit ones with a simmering sexual tension. 

When he saw her stretched out on one of the chaise longues, he had a flash of _Oh my God she’s so hot and beautiful and amazing_ , but it was quickly followed by seeing the things she kept hidden from everyone else. Like how limply her head rested against the chaise, how pale her skin looked in the rays of the setting sun. She was tired and needed a break.   
And he was going to give her one. He was going to give her whatever she needed. 

She opened her eyes and gave him a slightly weaker version of her devastating smile. ”That’s what I love to see: a man walking towards me with a bottle of wine.”

Chuck smiled back, feeling on terra firma. They could handle flirting. It was fun, ever since the first time it had happened. Because they both gave as good as they got—although he knew he showed it more than she did when something affected him. 

"Is it me or the wine?" he asked, grinning at her as he set down the glasses. "I figured, might as well bring a bottle. And with wine goes cheese and crackers."

"Fancy," Sarah said, reaching to pick up one of the brie-smeared crackers, nibbling as he uncorked the bottle and poured them the wine.

"My mother would be so thrilled those etiquette classes finally took."

"Oh, they did," Sarah agreed with a smile, taking the glass that he handed her and sipping it slowly. "Mmmmm."

He ducked his head for a moment, her little purr of pleasure going straight through him. Then he straightened and gave her his best slow, cocky smile. ”Picked out this vintage myself,” he said, settling into the chaise next to hers. ”I have six more bottles downstairs when we finish off this one.”

"Seven bottles in one night?" Sarah arched her eyebrow, a move that never failed to make him lose his train of thought for a moment. "That just might be enough to get both of us drunk."

"Probably," he agreed, sipping his wine and stretching his legs out in front of him.

For the next few moments, there was just the sound of sips and crunches. Sarah gazed off at the view while Chuck tried to focus on the wine in his glass instead of staring at the woman sitting next to him.

When she spoke, her words were soft, but Chuck immediately turned his head to look at her.

"Do you ever wonder what if, Chuck?"

Her quiet question made him feel incredibly nervous. Because this soft, uncertain Sarah brought out instincts in him that he wasn’t sure he should be showing towards her. ”Of course I do,” Chuck said, looking down at his glass as he swirled his wine. ”Everyone does. Like what if George Lucas hadn’t changed _Star Wars_ to make Greedo shoot.”

"I was thinking something more personal,” she said, turning to look at him. And her eyes made him realize the danger of this moment. How he could get swept up in it—in her—and do something that could completely backfire. 

Chuck stood and walked to the edge of the deck. With his back to her, he could regroup. Could remind himself that they were friends. Even if she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the kind of woman he could see himself with forever. He sucked in a breath. 

“Like what?” he asked, hearing how his voice trembled slightly. 

When Sarah didn’t reply, he turned around to look at her. The setting sun was behind him, throwing shafts of pink and orange and yellow light over her face. And it was like a punch in the gut, to look at her and know that as beautiful as she was, he cared about more than her looks. 

She took a large swallow of wine, then opened her mouth. But the words must have died on her lips, because she closed her mouth and shifted on her chaise. 

The air was thick with unsaid words. Slowly, Chuck walked back over towards her. He picked up the bottle and topped off his glass, then held the bottle out towards her. ”More wine?”

When she nodded, he refilled her glass. “If I can make a suggestion,” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. ”Let’s just … enjoy tonight.”

She took a small sip. ”And … and how should we enjoy ourselves?” she asked, her voice a little hesitant. As if she was unsure about what he might say.

"We’ve got wine. We’ve got a sunset. I think we’ve got all we need," he said, giving her a soft smile. Trying to sound reassuring and friendly, trying to make things comfortable between them again.

After a moment, she returned the smile. ”You’re disappointing all my long-held fantasies about how the other half lives,” she said lightly. Falling back into their normal banter, with the snap and crackle of sexual tension more muted. Yet just because the heat was dampened didn’t mean that this was like their normal give-and-take. No, this felt different. More … intimate. 

He laughed softly. ”No wild parties, no movie star liaisons, nothing like that?”

"Yes, nothing," she said primly, looking at him over the rim of her glass.

"I’m just the humble vice-president of a little electronics company," Chuck said, crunching on a cracker. "I’m not one to turn the girls’ heads. And wild parties are great—at someone else’s house."

Sarah snickered, a sound that was delightfully goofy and something he had never heard before. ”Good point.”

Chuck looked over at her and smiled lazily. ”There was this one time growing up, my best friend Morgan and me decided we were going to start our own business. A party business, for our friends. We’d rent some warehouse and get a bunch of kegs. I’d DJ and we’d get people to pay ten bucks at the door to get in.”

"Let’s see, that’s underage drinking, zoning law violations, definitely some noise complaints …" Sarah enumerated. She grinned at him. "How long did this business last?"

"Three parties," Chuck said with a grin. "Then we got busted."

"So tell me more about all these youthful hijinks," Sarah said, turning on the chaise to face him.

He smiled and started talking. As the sun drifted lower on the horizon, Sarah listened and drank wine while he told her stories. When the light grew dim, Chuck lit the lanterns on the table between them, casting soft light over their faces. They finished off the bottle but Chuck didn’t feel the need to get another one. Tonight wasn’t about getting drunk. It was about finding that place where, in the twilight and with a bit of a buzz, you felt safe. At peace. 

But he knew the wine and the darkness didn’t give him peace. 

Sarah did. 

End.


	13. Close Encounters with the Detective and the Tech Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Steampunk.Chuckster** is a really special writer. Re-reading this chapter reminded me of that once again. Because she’s able to do so much here, layer in so much emotion and description and then turn on a dime and give you something completely different. Plus, I love her way of characterizing Chuck, particularly in this chapter. I think you’ll enjoy Close Encounters with the Detective and the Tech Guy!

He sat alone, calm, thoughtful…unfettered.

His eyes flicked up to the clock in the corner of his office, the second hand tick, tick, tick, ticking in time with the methodical tapping of his fingers on his knee. It was well past two in the morning, the witching hour come and gone, his own personal demons come and gone. 

Even the overachieving technicians in the lower level offices were probably gone for the night. Or was it morning?

What did it matter anyways? What was there to go home to but his large, empty apartment, the silk sheets on his bed, the full bar? 

Well, there was that. There was always a good, strong martini. 

Being alone used to not bother him. It meant more room for himself, more time to be who he wanted to be, do what he wanted to do. And no one to tell him he worked too hard, when some days working hard at the office was all he wanted to do. It gave him a thrill, watching his plans come to fruition, watching the bare bones of a new program grow into something real and palpable, something sellable. But now, as he watched the second hand twitch around the clock face, he felt the emptiness that came with being lonely. Not just alone, but lonely. And the darkness somehow made it worse. But he hadn’t the initiative to even reach over to turn on his desk lamp. And so he settled further back into his chair, watching the moving lights of downtown Los Angeles out his window in the distance, listening to the impatient horns of taxicabs and late night revelers trying to maneuver around the still-active city streets.   
It had been a long day, a trying day, but the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. He wasn’t even tired. 

How could he be tired with her on his brain? 

Speaking of thrilling.

Some people could smell danger. Sarah Walker could smell it from a mile away. It was part of the job. Instinct. Maybe it was something she was born with. 

Yeah, some people could smell danger. But not Chuck Bartowski. 

The electrical spark—no, more like all-encompassing combustion—between them should have given him pause. It was dangerous. Anything that intense had to be dangerous. 

Someone wanted his father dead, wanted _him_ dead. Whoever it was put a bomb in his coat pocket. Anybody else in his shoes would stay in their apartment, hiding under the covers of their bed, pull as many bodyguards as possible in to protect them from the threat. Stop living life and hole themselves up somewhere safe and fortified.

But Chuck woke up every morning, dressed, drank his mug of damn good coffee, and went to the office. Just like he’d done before Bob Gerheart was murdered in front of Bartowski Electronics Corp weeks and weeks ago. Before the threat on his father’s life was issued. And the threat on his own life. Before Sarah Walker purposefully marched into the office and sat in front of him and his father, pulling a recording device out and setting it in between them on the table.

In spite of it all, Chuck fostered a major crush on the detective who was leading the investigation to find the killer, as well as handling his family’s protective detail. And he thought of her when he woke up in the morning, and sometimes throughout the day. And he let the flirtatious banter flow between them. In fact, he did his best to nurture the flirting. Because it felt good. And anything that felt that good couldn’t be dangerous. Could it?

No. 

Because then there were those moments they had—not just moments but entire stretches of time, _hours_ really—in which everything seemed to settle around them. Like the other night when they sat on the rooftop together. It was ridiculously cheesy, but he couldn’t help feeling that the world had stopped for a few hours. There weren’t men out to kill him, or a protective detail hanging around his office and family home. It was just Chuck and Sarah, sharing a bottle of wine and cheese and crackers. And the moon. And the soft breeze. There wasn’t the usual amount of heat churning between them. There was just this deep understanding there, a peace that they shared and could enjoy together without having to put words to it. There was laughter. And at one point, Sarah had giggled so hard, she had to sit up to keep from choking on the wine she’d just swallowed. 

Chuck grinned now as he thought of the way she flushed and glared when he laughed at her and saluted her with his own glass. 

It was just so comfortable. There was no other way to describe it. And something that comfortable, something that came so naturally to him, to them _both_ …Chuck didn’t understand how it could be negative in any way.

Of course his mind chose that moment to go in a different direction—in a more physical direction, in fact. That incomparable heat he felt when they were close. When she touched him. Or when she looked at him a certain way. The heaviness of the air between them when they were locked in a car together on the way to and from the office—it was usually a toss-up whether they chatted comfortably or sat in heat-charged silence while pretending it was comfortable silence. 

And then there was aikido. 

The way they’d moved together in the makeshift dojo dance studio, her strong warm hands against his skin as she easily and gracefully flipped him onto the mat over and over and over again. The feel of her warm body moving against his. Her tempestuous blue eyes filled with a suggestion of later. _Later_. 

God, he wished it could be later already…

It had stunned him speechless that she had continued the lessons. It hadn’t stopped with that first time, in spite of the fact that he had literally been a millisecond away from finally feeling her mouth against his and finally knowing for sure if her lips were as soft as they looked. They had been so close to kissing.

While that hadn’t happened the other few times they met for aikido lessons, it remained on his mind, and the physicality of the sessions remained just as sexually charged as the first had been. 

He was getting better, too. That was the best part of it. While he enjoyed the touching and grabbing and…pinning…he was legitimately learning how to protect himself. And that more than anything made him not just intensely attracted to Sarah Walker, but incredibly grateful as well. Grateful and, if he were to be completely honest with himself, really _really_ turned on.   
There was a light knock at his door. “Chuck, you in there?”

It was as if he had summoned her by thinking of her. “Yeah,” was the only thing he could say at the moment. She caught him off-guard, showing up here at two-thirty in the morning, when he was sitting alone, in the darkness, listing in his mind all of her finer attributes. Remembering the way she had felt against him and the things he imagined them doing together that had very little to do with aikido lessons…

He blushed a little even as she opened the door and poked her head around.

Chuck quickly dropped his feet to the ground and sat up straighter, suddenly aware that his suit jacket was off and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair was probably ruffled from dragging his hands through it too much, the curls atop his head making funny animal shapes, as Ellie liked to say when she’d had a bit too much to drink.

He switched on the lamp and Sarah’s beautiful features were illuminated in the low light. She squinted in confusion, then seemed a little contrite. “Did I wake you up?”

“No. I wasn’t sleeping.”

She looked dubious. “You were just sitting by yourself in the dark at two-thirty in the morning?”

Chuck shrugged and smiled lazily, noticing the way her eyes softened a little. His heart made itself known in his chest, thudding against his ribcage a little harder. “I was just thinkin’. It’s easier in the dark.”

Sarah looked at the blinds he’d pulled open an hour earlier in order to watch the traffic down below and shook her head, walking all the way into the office and revealing her perfect figure to him, clad in her typical dark pencil skirt, matching blazer, and white blouse, topped off with black pumps with preposterously high heels. Just another thing to add to the docket of amazing talents possessed by Detective Sarah Walker.

“You know,” she said, gesturing with a graceful hand, “It’s not exactly safe having your blinds hanging open like that. People have been sniped in harder to get at places than this. Anybody could chill in one of those buildings across the street, pick your office out, and in a moment, you’d be gone.”

Chuck watched her face carefully, the shadows dancing on it as she moved right up against his desk and leaned her palms on top, supporting her weight by her wrists. He looked for any signs that his demise would mean more to the intelligent, utterly capable, stunningly beautiful Pinkerton detective than just a lot of dull paperwork. But, like always, her face was a blank canvas.

Damn training.

With a sigh, he shrugged. “Well, the light was off before you came in here, so they wouldn’t see me anyways. And it’s not like I smoke.”

Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head in confusion. It was damn adorable. “What does smoking have to do with it?”

“The glow from the end of the cigarette. Have you never seen any film noir? Or even _Rear Window_?” When she rolled her eyes, he grinned. “That has to be rectified.”

There it was. That mischievous, coy look he enjoyed so much. The way those amazing blue eyes flashed. Then she gave him her secret smile, something he couldn’t describe and hoped he’d never fully understand, even though it rankled him. Like there was some joke she was trying to share with him, a joke he didn’t get. And he wanted her to think he _did_ get it so he just gave her his best rendition of a secret smile back. 

This made her smile deepen. And he wondered if she knew his smile was a ruse.

Of course she did.

Observation was a part of her job. A part of her identity, really. She knew things other people would never get in a million years, even if it was spelled out in front of them.   
He loved that about her, even at the cost of his own pride. 

“So what are you doing here this late?” he finally had to ask before he let his thoughts get away from him. She seemed to shake herself a little, as though she’d been lost in her own thoughts, her bright eyes (in spite of the late, or perhaps early, hour) fastened on him. 

“I was on duty. I’ve been downstairs, waiting for you to come down so I could take you home.” She tilted her head forward so that she could look at him through her eyelashes and Chuck felt his pulse pick up. “But you never did.”

Chuck gestured with a halfhearted wave at the door she’d just entered through. “Making sure someone didn’t snipe me while I was up here alone?”

“You think you’re being funny joking about that?” she asked, reaching across his desk and smacking his shoulder harder than he’d expected.

“Ow! Yeesh! Sorry!”

“You should be.” She crossed her arms, her lips pursed and her blue eyes dark as her finely shaped eyebrows arched. She was incredibly beautiful, especially at two-thirty in the morning, when they were most likely alone in the large building, in the semi-darkness, with nothing but this damn desk between them. And a whole lot of Pinkerton protocol. 

“So?” He broke the silence that crackled between them.

“So, what?”

Chuck shrugged again, swiveling his chair to face her and leaning forward with his elbows on his desk, their faces only a few inches from one another. “What are you doing up here?”   
He wasn’t flirting, only curious. Or at least, that was what he was going for, and apparently he was successful, because there was none of the teasing chastisement on Sarah’s face his innuendo usually garnered.

“Just letting you know that Agent Frederick will be taking you home whenever you’re through sitting here in the dark not-napping.”

“Oh. You’re not?”

“Not what?”

“You’re not taking me home?”

“I’m already a few hours past my shift, Bartowski. You kept me up way past my bed time.” There was the flirtation. And the feelings in his chest (and other places) that always accompanied it. 

“I always do, don’t I?” He flashed her a cheeky grin and he detected a hint of a flush on her face, or maybe the bad light was playing tricks on him. The rooftop hang-out had lasted well into the early morning hours, even after they’d finished off their bottle of wine, well past the sun sinking behind the skyline. And it wasn’t even the first time they’d been up past one talking and drinking after a long day. He hoped to God it wouldn’t be the last, either, as the case seemed to be drawing to a close more and more rapidly as the days went by.

“What is it you’re doing in here all hours of the night, anyway?” She tilted her head and stood up straight again, and a part of him mourned the loss of her nearness. “It can’t be anything _too_ important.”

He laughed. “If I didn’t know you were joking, I’d be offended, you sassy thing,” he teased in a flamboyant tone. 

That made her giggle and he felt like the room was suddenly filled with light. “I’m, uh, I’m actually working on the layout for some new software. May or may not work out.”

“Again…I bring your attention to the fact that I walked into pitch darkness when I came in here. Do you have night vision or something?”

“I’m actually a half-elf. Low-light vision.” She made a face. “Pretend that didn’t happen. Actually, I was plotting in my head. I do that before I write it all down. I sit and think.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before.”

“I’m a singular kind of guy.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, a small smile twitching on her lips. “You are.”

“So, uh,” she rushed as he grinned widely at her soft-spoken compliment. “What is this software of yours?” She widened her eyes in a gesture he recognized as prompting him to continue. He gave her the skeleton explanation of the software, its purpose for its buyers, what he hoped it might accomplish for the company in the long run. And she listened closely…as she always did.   
He loved her voice, and the way it sounded when she was amused, even the brittle tension in it when she was frustrated or stressed, or even angry. 

But the way she listened was more eloquent than speech. 

There was a soft eagerness in her that made him confident when he spoke to her. And he wondered if it was just wishful thinking on his part, but sometimes he thought there was even a intrigue in the way she listened to him when he talked about his work, or when he told a story. A flash of excitement in her eyes, the small smile on her full lips, the way she leaned towards him, only a little.

Maybe it was just her job. 

She was a detective, after all. And making the people she was paid to protect feel comfortable around her was important. And she made him feel comfortable. 

She made him feel _so_ good.

So he would take that and run with it, not caring where it took him. Because maybe it was dangerous, and maybe he didn’t care. And maybe when this was all over, he’d get hurt. But it would be worth it. For the ride.

For moments like these. 

When they were alone and she let herself just be, instead of going into agent mode as she did when the other Pinkertons were around. Or his father. And especially his mother. 

Not that he didn’t also appreciate Sarah Walker when she was professional. The way she would snap into her leadership role with the other agents, never hard or unfeeling, but business-like and capable and dependable. In all honesty, Chuck Bartowski found professional Sarah Walker to be incredibly sexy. And when she saved his life over a month ago, diving on top of him at the risk of being blown to smithereens herself, he’d been incomprehensibly grateful and stunned and warmed by it. Even though it was her job, the fact that she did that without a second thought left him breathless even now. But there was also a part of him that had been turned on by her inherent ability to protect him. He felt a bit piggish for it, but there it was.

And she was a fantastic teacher. While the aikido lessons were infused with sexual tension and teasing and a ridiculous amount of flirtation (all fused with a healthy dose of competition), she was absolutely serious about making sure he was learning. As a result, he had taken those lessons seriously, taken _her_ seriously, and he was now at least proficient in it. All credit to Sarah Walker.

And damn, but she was intelligent. The way she slowly whittled away at the investigation. He stumbled upon the charts she created in her notebook, lines connecting the actors in Chuck’s life and his father’s business associates, personal biographies that she constructed as she learned more about the people who may or may not be involved. It was fascinating to him that he so often forgot she had an actual job to do here, and even more fascinating was the fact that she was constantly working behind-the-scenes, along with her partners, keeping the investigation quiet. It certainly wasn’t a secret that Stephen J. Bartowski and his son Charles had targets on their backs, that an important man was murdered, and that a private company was conducting the investigation. It had been plastered all over the _Times_ for weeks, until it got bumped to the second page, then the third page, and even now a blurb would pop up here and there in the local section. 

But that was the nature of Detective Walker, and the nature of Pinkerton. Things were handled quietly and efficiently, with as little interruption to the lives of the people involved as possible.   
And now she had apparently pinpointed whoever was behind the whole thing. Chuck witnessed firsthand the way the adrenaline seemed to course through her now that she thought she was nearing the end of the investigation. The way she walked through the hallways of Bartowski Electronics with a sense of determination, her jaw set, eyes focused. It was hot. To say the least. But mostly, she was just so damn impressive.

Sarah finally gathered herself to leave after a few more minutes of semi-flirtatious banter over Chuck’s desk, walking to the door of his office. “I’ll see you at noon?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I’ll be here, I’m sure.”

She sent him a knowing look. “I’m sure, too. Don’t keep Frederick up too long, Chuck. I don’t think he’ll like you much for it.”

“I don’t think Ted likes me much as it is,” he said with a big grin, sending a wink her way. She smirked and a voice in his head with a Brooklyn accent went, _What a knock-out dame_. He chided himself for being so corny, but couldn’t help but agree, his eyes following the line of her skirt, down her long legs to her killer shoes. And the way her blond hair swept over one eye, brushing against her cheek as she opened the door to his office and turned to look at him.

“Good night, Chuck.”

“Night. Don’t let the bed bu—”

“Don’t even say it,” she snarked with a grin. “I’m not afraid of bed bugs.”

“You’re not afraid of anything,” he shot back, unaware of the softness in his eyes, or the sincerity in his voice. 

Sarah stopped and looked at him for awhile, her fingers fiddling with a lock of her hair. He noticed she had a French manicure that hadn’t been there two days ago. 

So she liked to pamper herself. _Interesting_.

“Some things,” she answered quietly.

He didn’t quite know what to say to that, but her admission sent warmth flooding through him and he found himself smiling at her. “I’ll see ya.”

She winked and nodded her head once, sweeping out of his office with light, tinkling giggle.

As the door clicked shut softly, he fell back against his chair and let out a long breath. 

Chuck Bartowski was absolutely crazy about Detective Sarah Walker, and he was mildly aware that it could potentially be a problem. And maybe that affection between them, whatever it truly was, would prove to be dangerous.

But he still couldn’t make himself stop.

He wanted her to come back inside, toss her briefcase onto his leather couch, walk around his desk and lean down to kiss him. He wanted her to say to hell with Pinkerton protocol, to hell with the investigation, to hell with everything that didn’t involve the two of them together. 

But as he listened to the silence out in the hall, he realized it was only a dream. It could only be a dream. Sarah Walker was professional. And _he_ was professional.

And Chuck wouldn’t have it any other way.

So he stood and decided he’d pack up and meet Agent Ted Frederick down in the lobby where the man was undoubtedly impatient to take him home. He pulled the blinds back down and grabbed his briefcase from his desk, pocketing his cell phone.

His eyes fell to an envelope with Sarah’s name on it. He’d forgotten to give her the list she’d asked for yesterday when she’d come to his office. A list of Stephen’s clients from the years he’d run his own tech repair business right after college. “Damn!”

True, he could always give it to her tomorrow when he saw her again. That would be easier.

But chasing her down to give it to her now meant seeing Sarah Walker again before later today. And no amount of fatigue or laziness would cause the young electronics guru to pass up that opportunity. 

He dropped his briefcase, grabbed the envelope and moved out of his office, into the hallway, shutting and locking the door behind him, all while shrugging his jacket on. “Sarah?” he called, knowing the chances of her still being on this floor were slim. 

Then he climbed into the elevator and pressed the button for the garage level, folding back against the rail and sighing. Suddenly the fatigue was hitting him.

Chuck looked at his watch, feeling a sense of melancholy and loneliness, and maybe even a tinge of darkness settle over him. Here he was in the elevator, riding down to catch a beautiful woman before she drove away…after having been locked in his office with her, just the two of them…

Maybe if he was more of a man, he would make a move. Pull her tall frame against him, tangle his hand in that fantastic blond hair of hers, look her in the eyes, and kiss her like crazy.   
He snorted at himself.

He would never do that to her. And if he tried, she wouldn’t shrink against him. She wouldn’t surrender to him after weakly thumping her tiny ineffectual fists against his chest—the way it always happened in old movies. 

No. Sarah Walker would have him flat on his back before he could say ‘Just kidding’. And then he’d receive a lecture. Or maybe not even that. A disappointed glare, and then nothing else at all. A swish of her hair as she left the room. 

Life wasn’t an old movie.

Sarah’s unattainability was a testament to that. She was a detective, not just any woman. And she was on assignment. She was protecting him. And she had already saved his life once. Perhaps she would save him a second time. Or his father. Or mother. Or _Ellie_. 

And until this was all over, until she brought the culprit to justice as he knew she would, Sarah Walker would remain unattainable.

For now, he was content for things to stay as they were between them. But later…

The elevator dinged loudly and he jumped. Then he cursed himself because he realized Sarah hadn’t parked in the garage. She stuck to parking on the street for some reason, even though he reserved a spot near his car in the garage. Personal preference, maybe, although he had a feeling she might have some form of claustrophobia and didn’t like being underground. She got a little squirmy whenever he drove into the garage with her in the passenger seat of his car. And she wouldn’t stop until they got into the elevator and began rising above ground.

Chuck raced across the garage to the stairs that would bring him up to the sidewalk at street level, bursting through the door that locked behind him to keep non-personnel out of the garage. 

He turned to see Sarah walking slowly down the street, a little less than a block away. He thought to call her name, but it was closing on three in the morning and somebody somewhere nearby was probably asleep. Perhaps everybody. And he was nothing if not thoughtful.

The envelope clenched in his hand, he walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes on her back as he closed the distance between them.

Chuck stilled as he heard the quietude of the street behind the Bartowski Electronics Corp headquarters broken by the sound of screeching tires. He looked at Sarah and saw that she was still strolling along, perhaps having not heard the sound, perhaps lost in her own thoughts, or tired and distracted. That wasn’t like her at all—the Pinkerton agent who was constantly on alert, ready for anything. 

She was maybe a few dozen feet away from him.

Chuck spun to see a black Chevrolet that looked to be a model from the mid-nineteen-forties peel around the corner, the tires screeching again on the asphalt. Without a moment’s thought, fear and adrenaline rocketing through him, Chuck burst forward down the sidewalk toward his detective.

“Sarah! Sarah, get down!”

She spun, producing her silver Smith & Wesson from beneath her trench coat. He looked over his shoulder at the approaching threat and saw the back window of the old Chevy slide open. He’d seen this sort of scene before. Numerous times.

The subsequent, terrifying _ratatatatatatatat_ followed, shattering the glass windows behind Chuck as he collided with the shocked woman and tackled her to the floor. Glass rained down upon them as the loud rapid-fire continued, destroying shop windows and the windshields of the parked cars, peppering brick walls and stone façades. 

Chuck kept his body over Sarah’s, blanketing her as best he could, his hand covering her head and receiving the brunt of the glass showering them. The car sped past where they took cover and the Tommy gun stopped its violent assault.

Sarah slammed her shoulder into Chuck and knocked him roughly onto his back as she climbed to her feet and raised her gun to return fire. But Chuck knew what happened in the movies. When at first you don’t succeed, _try try again_.

The car swung around in a U-turn and surged toward them again, the Tommy gun protruding out of the shadows and beginning its assault a second time. Sarah was right in its pathway.

“Sarah, no!”

He pushed himself off the ground and wound an arm around her waist, pulling her behind the nearest car and pinning her against the door with his own body, clutching her to him tightly and praying to whatever higher being that was listening that none of the bullets had touched her. 

Finally, he heard the car zoom away, but he clung to Sarah nevertheless, afraid that if he pulled away, he’d discover that one of them had been shot. Sarah moved suddenly and he pulled his head back a bit, his hands on her shoulders. She had her phone pressed against her ear.

“1946 Chevrolet Fleetmaster Coupe. Black. Occupants wearing black. Black fedora, I think. And a Thompson submachine gun, perhaps two.” She paused. “I don’t care if it _is_ weird. Just look for them, damn it!” she snapped, lowering her phone and letting out a breath, her head falling back against the door of the car and her eyes slipping shut.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his hands drifting down her arms to check when she didn’t reply right away.

Then her eyes snapped open and she was angry. Incredibly angry. Her hands darted out and pushed his jacket over his shoulders and half off of him. If he wasn’t still incredibly terrified and in shock from being shot at by a 1940s gangster squad, he would have blushed at the efficiency with which she’d just undressed him.

And then her concerned gaze was sweeping over him, her hands following. “Are you okay? Did you get shot? Did they get you?”

“No. No, I’m okay. I’m fine.” He held his hands up. “Just…uh…maybe I’ll need a change of pants,” he said with a crooked, unsettled smile. Sarah didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. She just breathed out in relief, until the anger surged back.

He wasn’t prepared for the sudden barrage of fists coming at his shoulders and biceps. Or the way it legitimately hurt. “What the hell is wrong with you, Chuck Bartowski?!” she yelled in between attacks. “Those were real bullets!” She punched him again. “From a real gun!” And again. “And you could have been killed!” 

With that, she shoved him all the way off of her and clambered up to her feet. He noticed she had skinned knees and palms and…where was that gun he’d seen her draw?

“But, you were—”

“Now I have to get my stupid, freaking gun out from under the…” Her voice drifted off as she lowered herself to her stomach and reached under the car he’d tackled her into the second time. 

_Oh. There’s her gun._   
He probably knocked it out of her hand when he pulled her down, causing it to skitter underneath the car.

When she emerged, the gun in her hand, she seemed incredibly tired and frightened. She holstered the gun and climbed to her feet again, leaving him sitting below her. “Well? Get up, then.”  
He stood up slowly, pulling his jacket all the way on again. “Are you hurt at all?”

“Mm. My knees are messed up. And my hands.”

“Oh. I see that. D-Did we just get dropped in the middle of a nineteen-forties gangster movie, or is it just me?”

Sarah shook her head. “That was the weirdest thing that’s ever happened, and…” She turned suddenly, her hair whipping around and her eyes bright. “You saved me.”

“I, uh…I just saw ‘em coming around the corner and I’ve seen all those movies so I guess I just knew what was coming. I guess.”

“They were after you!”

“That’s the thing, Sarah. They weren’t after me. They were after you. I saw the car making a beeline for you, then it swerved, and the gun popped out of the window. They were trying to kill _you_.”

“Son of a bitch! So you dove into the line of fire? Are you fucking crazy?” she breathed out, covering the lower half of her face with shaky hands.

“They would’ve killed you!”

“I’m not discussing this right now!” she barked. “I have to make a damn stupid report and I have to lead the search for the bastards and _you_? You have to go home. Where the shit is Agent Frederick?” she snapped, pushing past Chuck grumpily.

He blinked. He’d just saved Sarah Walker’s life at the risk of his own. And while he hadn’t truly been aware of his actions at the time, he knew that if he had the chance to go back, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. If it meant those bullets missed her.

Sarah was on her phone again. “Yes, Sir. It’s a mind game. They’re screwing with us. We’re dealing with some sort of twisted individual, Sir.” She turned and snapped her fingers over her shoulder. “Come on, Chuck.” She turned forward again as Chuck glowered at the back of her head. What right did she think she had snapping her fingers at him like he was a dog?

Moodily following her down the street, he watched her hang up her phone and lead him back towards the building entrance. Chuck unlocked the door to the front lobby silently, trying to peek at Sarah’s face, and hopefully gauge from her eyes (if nothing else) the way she was feeling.

There was still so much fear there, fear and doubt and confusion. And still a bit of anger. But the thing that really concerned him was the way she was nibbling her lip. She was so lost in the cloud of emotions that she neglected to slip her mask on. Every bit of what she was feeling was there for him to see.

And it worried him.

“Sarah…”

“Not now, Chuck.” And then her eyes widened and she gasped. “Frederick! Shit!”

He followed her gaze. Agent Ted Frederick was slumped on the ground beside the security desk in the corner of the lobby, his eyes shut, his body limp.

Once she reached the downed agent’s side, Sarah verbally confirmed he was just unconscious and not dead, but that didn’t stop the sick feeling from rising in Chuck’s gut, and that didn’t stop him from lurching forward to his knees and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the polished, marble floor of the lobby.


	14. The Detective and the Tech Guy Play Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an incredibly important milestone of a chapter. And of course our very own **dettiot** handled it with aplomb. To take such a delicate and HUGE moment and weave it so brilliantly...well it’s something special. This is why I think you’re all going to enjoy “Play Doctor” more than you have any of the others.

Even after emptying his stomach, Chuck still felt that queasy, unsettled feeling inside himself. He swayed a little as he waited for Sarah to finish her phone call, adding Agent Frederick’s assault to her report on tonight’s strange activities. Shuffling his feet, he tried to move farther away from the puddle of sick on the floor, the smell making his gut clench. 

Was it only a half hour ago that he was sitting in his office, staring out at the darkness and wondering at the twists and turns in his life? How quickly things could change in just thirty minutes. All his thoughts about Sarah, about wanting her to be his, seemed very selfish and small right now. Watching that car speed towards her, spraying bullets whose only purpose was to pierce her perfect flesh … in that moment, he would have traded any chance with her to guarantee her safety. To ensure that nothing bad would ever happen to Sarah Walker. 

It hadn’t been enough to use his body to shield hers. He was just Chuck Bartowski, a software exec who made a pretty good martini and was learning aikido. And she was Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, resourceful detective and martial artist. He couldn’t keep her safe, even though everything inside him wanted to do just that. Wanted to protect her and take care of her and … and love her. 

As Sarah crouched down, talking quietly with the revived Agent Frederick with her phone still pressed to her ear, Chuck stared at her. Took in her messy hair, her skinned knees and tense shoulders, and all he could think was that he was totally in love with her. Not infatuated, not feeling a passing whim or the burning passion of lust. 

What he felt for her was richer and deeper and purer than that. He loved her. 

His knees felt weak. Like they might not hold him any longer. 

Chuck frowned. He thought love would make him feel strong. Was something … ?

A sharp slice of pain cut across his back. He reached behind him, realizing that his jacket and shirt were torn. There was something wet on his fingers. And when he pulled his hand up towards his face, the wetness was red. 

It would be just his luck to realize he loved Sarah Walker right before he passed out from the sight of his own blood. He sank down to the floor with a thump and, as always, looked for Sarah’s face before his eyes closed. 

XOXOXOXO

The soft thud of something hitting the floor made Sarah whirl around. Not something—someone. Chuck was sprawled across the marble floor of the lobby, looking all the world like a marionette whose strings had been cut. 

Her heart leaped up into her throat and she hung up her phone, not caring that she had a vice-president of the Pinkerton Agency on the other end. Her whole focus narrowed from the hundred different thoughts in her mind to just one: Chuck.

Dashing across the lobby, she knelt beside him and took his face in her hands. “Chuck? Chuck!” She ran her eyes over him, trying to figure out why he had fainted. She had checked him outside—he said he was okay! 

Leaning down, she looked at his face, so pale and slack, and she couldn’t help stroking his hair back. “Chuck?” she said softly. 

When he stirred, she felt a huge wave of relief. And when his eyes opened, revealing those brown orbs that held the whole world, Sarah sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“Chuck, what is it? What’s wrong?” 

He weakly gestured towards his right side. “My … my back … blood … ” 

Sarah reached down and carefully pulled him up to a sitting position. Her fingers felt clumsy as she pushed at his jacket, sliding it over his shoulders. Chuck moved his arms as if he was in a daze, barely able to help her get the jacket off. 

Ignoring the twinge from her scraped knees, she crawled around so she could see his back and let out a small gasp. His snowy white dress shirt was marred with a long streak of blood, soaking into the gaping edges of the fabric. 

For just a moment, she let her eyes close, let herself feel the panic and fear and worry. Then she opened her eyes and got to work. 

Frederick was hovering at the corner of her gaze. She turned and snapped at him to call for an ambulance and then wait outside for it, knowing she was being too harsh on the poor man but unable to stop herself. Once he was gone, she turned her attention back to Chuck.

The shirt was ruined and she needed to see his back, so she took the material and yanked hard. Damn it, why was he so rich and could afford shirts made out of lovely thick fabric that flattered him so much? She pulled again, finally getting the shirt torn enough to reveal the graze that ran diagonally across his back, starting near the edge of his rib cage and running down towards his waist on the opposite side of his spine. 

“S-Sarah? I … I hope you won’t think less of me for feeling faint.”

“When you’ve been walking around bleeding for twenty minutes? I’ll overlook it this once, Chuck,” she said, using banter to hide how she was feeling. But her voice shook a little. 

“Is it bad?” he asked, turning just enough to see her before he winced. 

As lightly as possible, she probed the wound, noticing idly that his skin was so soft and warm. “You might have a scar.” 

“Really?” he said. It sounded like he was also trying to keep the situation light, because his voice had a wistful tone. “I always wanted a scar. Ladies love scars. They think you’re tough then.”

“No, they don’t,” she said, scrambling to her feet and going over to the receptionist desk to grab the first aid kit that was stashed there. “Women hate scars. Because it means the men they care about got hurt once upon a time.” 

Fumbling open the box, she grabbed an antiseptic pad and used it to start wiping away the blood. Hating the sight of the crimson red splashed across the warm tanned skin underneath her fingers. 

“You think so?” Chuck asked. “I dunno about that. My mother never really cared when I fell off my bike and skinned my knees. She would just yell at me to not get blood on the carpet. Because I’d usually be woozy. From the blood.” 

Her hands were shaking a little. She was no nurse, and Chuck needed real medical attention. Where the hell was that ambulance? 

But he was bleeding because of her. Because his enemies had become hers, too, and they had tried to kill her tonight. And if it hadn’t been for Chuck, they might have succeeded. If Chuck hadn’t followed her outside, if he hadn’t been more observant, if he hadn’t tackled her and covered her with his long, lean body …

Sarah felt her throat tighten as she tried to keep her breathing even and steady. She couldn’t let on what she was feeling. Not now. She had to take care of Chuck. “How do you feel?” she asked, shifting so that she could see his face. 

He was sweating a little, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Woozy,” he said with a small, lopsided expression. “Because you look even more beautiful than normal. I can see the halo.” 

“The halo?” she said, swallowing as she reached for her phone.

“Yeah, the halo. My guardian angel’s gotta have a halo—wouldn’t be an angel without one,” he said. 

Chuck being delirious couldn’t be a good sign. But she’d be lying if his words—sweet, honest and a little bit slurred—didn’t make her melt. Something hard and solid deep down inside her suddenly turned into warm liquid. 

And all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and kiss him. 

Before she could do something stupid and dangerous like that, he swayed and she caught him, holding him upright. 

“Hold on, Chuck,” she said softly, bracing him. “You’re the guardian angel tonight and I need you to just hold on, okay?” 

He couldn’t answer her, having sunk into some kind of stupor. As she held him, waiting impatiently for the ambulance, that warm liquid inside her ignited into a flame. 

Rosebreen or whoever was responsible for tonight wouldn’t get away with this. If she had to work twenty-four hours a day until the case was solved, she would. Because this had gone on long enough. She had dragged her feet, wanting to maximize her time with Chuck. And because of that, he had gotten hurt. 

She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

XOXOXOXO

When he opened his eyes, the smell had already told him he was in the hospital. Slowly turning his head to look around, he took in the pale blue walls, the scratchy bed linens, the soft beeping of the machines. And there was his father, slumped down and snoring softly in an uncomfortable-looking chair. 

Chuck did his best to clear his throat, which was a sensation akin to two pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together. He croaked out, “Dad?”

Stephen Bartowski awoke with a start, then gave Chuck a happy smile. “Look who’s awake.” He stood and lifted a green plastic cup, directing the straw towards Chuck’s mouth. 

Gratefully, he drank a few swallows of cool water, each drop soothing his parched throat. “Thanks,” he said, looking up at Stephen. 

“You gave us a scare,” his father said, setting aside the cup before perching on the edge of Chuck’s bed. “I can’t believe someone tried to shoot you and Agent Walker outside our very building.” 

“Me, neither,” he said. The mention of Sarah made him look around again, craning his neck to see if she was in the vicinity. “Where is Agent Walker?” 

“She’s hard at work,” Stephen said. “Trying to find out who’s responsible for all this. And you, young man, you are to rest and recover.” 

“Dad, I didn’t get shot … it was just a graze—” He stopped when something registered in his memory. Some kind of banter with Sarah about having a scar, hearing her voice shake … oh, holy crap, she had ripped his shirt off! 

Stephen’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the bed, made Chuck realize he had sat up. “Dad, I’m okay—I need to talk to Sarah—”

It wasn’t often that Stephen Bartowski got firm, but this seemed like one of those times. “Charles Irving Bartowski, you need to let Agent Walker do her job. As soon as she got you to the hospital, she started working to find out who did this. It’s about time—she’s moved very cautiously this whole time, but the time for caution is past.”

If this was his mother, he could understand such criticism. But coming from Stephen, he felt the sting as much as if his father was criticising himself. 

“She’s done amazing work, Dad—she’s kept us both alive, she’s nearly got Rosebreen—”

“Enough, Charles,” Stephen said. “If you don’t calm down, I’ll get them to give you a sedative. I’m not about to lose my only son.” 

To say that his father was overreacting was putting it mildly. But his back was aching and fighting Stephen wouldn’t change anything, not when his father was being so stubborn. So grudgingly, Chuck reclined back against the pillows. 

“There we go,” Stephen said, pulling the blankets up. “Get some more sleep and we’ll take you home tomorrow morning.” 

Chuck sighed. He was a fully grown adult; he didn’t need to be coddled. At least, not by his father. But for now, he did need to rest. 

But first thing tomorrow morning, he would get his hands on a phone and call Sarah. Because things had changed now that he knew how he felt about her. He had been waiting for the end of the investigation before broaching a potential future with Sarah. But now … now, he would do everything in his power to make that future a reality. 

Because he was pretty sure that Sarah Walker was his destiny.

End.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is . . . the end of The Detective and the Tech Guy. The first arc, that is. :-) This chapter marks a major turning point in the story and sets up the next arc, so who better than Steampunk.Chuckster to write that, since she had this idea in the first place? And let me tell you, she pulls out all the stops in this chapter. If anyone doubts the power of the connection between Chuck and Sarah, those doubts are put to rest here by Steampunk.Chuckster's amazing writing. So please, settle in with your martini and see how The Detective and the Tech Guy Tie Up Loose Ends.

Sarah Walker shifted her weight to her other foot as she stood outside of the revolving doors that led into the lobby of Rosebreen Electronics. She had wanted very badly to go inside with the police officers and watch as they clapped the handcuffs around Rosebreen's sleazy wrists. To feel that sense of accomplishment and pride, knowing she had finally done it.

She and her assistants had gathered every last bit of incriminating evidence to prove to the LAPD once and for all that he was the suspect in the Robert Gerheart murder case. On top of that, they managed to nab him for the death threats on Stephen J. Bartowski, as well as the successful and unsuccessful attempted murders.

Without a doubt, she wished she could be in there, maybe increasing the bastard's degradation by kneeing him in the groin. All of that crap he had pulled with the strange, film noir drive by that had resulted in injuries and a few sleepless nights as she worked tirelessly to finally lay the case to rest…

God, if she could just arrest him herself, she could be sure that Rosebreen would be locked away. She could be sure that the Bartowski's were safe from the greedy, immoral son of a bitch.

But as she watched Rosebreen exit the building, his hands cuffed behind his back, his comb over fluttering in the late-morning Los Angeles breeze above the supremely disgruntled look on his face, Detective Walker decided this was good enough. Especially with the way the officers on either side of him were holding his arms painfully tight in their vise-like grips. She hoped it hurt.

They had done it. In spite of everything Rosebreen and his minions had attempted to keep her from succeeding, she had. Pride swirled through her as the LAPD officers shoved him into the back of a police car, ignoring the press crowding around, taking pictures and yelling questions.

She was still smirking as she pushed off of the pillar she'd been leaning on, quietly and gracefully moving through the crowd of press and walking down the street to where she'd parked her car. The smirk became a wide grin as she silently congratulated herself and her team again.

All they had needed was the extra shove when it came down to it. And for her, having to rush Chuck to the hospital after the drive by four days ago had been that shove. Luckily, working through nights and beating the pavement since she left Chuck's side that morning had paid off. Rosebreen was going to be behind bars for everything he'd done to the Bartowski's, and to the innocents caught in the scheme.

As she dropped into the driver's seat of her car, Sarah felt the grin on her face dim until she was frowning at her steering wheel. Fatigue washed over her and she tried to remember the last time she'd slept more than three hours in a row. She had just been working too hard. Sleep became an afterthought. But she silently admitted to herself that even if she hadn't been working on the case, she still wouldn't have been able to sleep much. Because seeing Chuck with blood staining his shirt, watching his eyelids flutter as he lost consciousness, watching the EMTs lift his usually upright, confident body and placing it on a gurney…

She'd worked so hard in the last four days securing the case that she hadn't had time to think about him, worry about him. She received reports of his condition, that he was fine and that his family was caring for him. But then she would shove all remaining thoughts of Chuck Bartowski into the deepest recesses of her mind to focus on Rosebreen and bring him to justice.

And now she had done just that. Her team was already en route to Chicago and she would follow after wrapping it up with the client. Once in Chicago, she would debrief with her superiors, turn in the official report, and wait for a new assignment. It was protocol. And usually she looked forward to it.

But at the moment, as she maneuvered her car through the LA street traffic, Sarah Walker found the usual thrill dulled significantly. It wasn't just that she was tired…and incredibly thirsty to boot. But she was so confused.

Sarah had since admitted to herself that this case could have been solved a lot sooner than this, which was part of the reason why she worked so hard the last few days. She didn't need Mary Bartowski accusing her of dragging her feet to eke more money out of the Bartowski bank accounts. Because she knew she _had_ been dragging her feet, but not for money. It was something less nefarious, but worse in her opinion. And certainly much more confusing. It was Chuck. Plain and simple.

She hadn't worked as hard or as quickly because the end of this case meant the end of…whatever it was that thrived…no, _burned_ between her and Chuck Bartowski. Her client. And quite possibly the most infuriatingly wonderful man she had ever met. Would anyone really blame her for it?

Yes. Her superiors would, as well as her Pinkerton peers. And she blamed herself, too, it had to be said. It was so unprofessional. So terribly dangerous.

And he had been hurt. He could have been _killed_.

Letting the consequent shiver overtake her body, Sarah bit her lip and took a deep breath to try to settle her thoughts.

She just had to tie up the loose ends on the case, get Stephen to sign a few things, and she would be done.

She could leave.

But did she want to leave?

What would happen if she just…didn't? If she instead dragged Chuck and a bottle of wine up to that roof deck of his and just stayed there for days on end? God, she hated herself for it, but now that everything was over and she wasn't drowning in thoughts about the case, she realized that she had missed Chuck. She had come to rely on him settling her with a brilliantly mixed martini, or forcing her to take a break to sit on his couch and just talk for a few minutes. She had gotten used to his words of encouragement if she hit a brick wall and had to backtrack. His positivity. His warmth. His smile. And God, his eyes.

Granted, even without all of that these last four days, without Chuck, she had done her job and she had done it well. But until she could tell him she'd solved the case, that he and his family were finally safe, it wouldn't seem real.

And that was incredibly jarring.

Sarah took another deep breath and let her eyes slip shut for just a moment while she sat at a red light.

She wasn't sure she wanted this to end. From the intense moments between them, during aikido lessons and the handful of times they'd almost kissed, to the wonderfully comfortable moments in which they merely sat quietly in each other's presence, sipping on their drinks, kicking their feet up on his coffee table after a long day, even flirting at her desk in her cubicle.

There were times when she left his side feeling completely off-balance because of a particularly slow smile or a glint in his eye, or something he said that was completely sincere, a thoughtful gesture, shameless flirting. And then there were other times when she left his side feeling like everything was right with the world, as shamefully cheesy as that sounded. The constant fluctuation of how she felt around him should have bothered her more, and the fact that it didn't bother her…Well, it bothered her that it didn't bother her.

She shook her head, her own thoughts leaving her more befuddled than before. And wasn't thinking things through supposed to _simplify_ everything?

And then there was that moment outside of Bartowski Electronics Corporation in the middle of the night, when she was walking down the sidewalk.

She had been distracted by the pleasant exchange she'd just had with Chuck in his office.

It was such an incredibly quiet scene between them. They'd been completely alone, in the low light, the sounds of the city outside of his window. And it was so comfortable. The way he had spoken to her, with a perpetually warm glimmer in his brown eyes that had been especially golden in the dim lamplight. The way his body seemed to melt into his chair; he had looked so vulnerable and it didn't seem like he had any intention of hiding it from her, not even a bit. Something about him wasn't merely fatigued, but maybe a little lost as well. Lonely, even.

That last thought made her chest ache, not just because she cared about him and wanted him to be happy, but because she knew what that was, loneliness. Annoyingly, it wasn't something she'd thought about before Chuck Bartowski. She was usually by herself, working cases, having the occasional drink with her fellow detectives, but mostly keeping to herself and being perfectly content in the meantime.

Then she'd been assigned this case. It had been long, complicated, and more emotional than she'd bargained for thanks to the wonderfully perfect, amazing idiot she was tasked to protect. And now that it was over, now that she was leaving said wonderfully perfect, amazing idiot behind, she felt crushingly alone.

She had been lost in that thought as she walked along the sidewalk toward her car at three in the morning—that fateful morning—deaf and blind to the sights and sounds around her until Chuck's voice pierced through her calm and sent an icy stab of fear straight through her.

Immediately acting to protect him, she pulled her pistol and spun to take in her surroundings, in detective mode once more. There had been so much desperation and terror in his voice when he said her name. It had nearly disabled her.

But nothing was more paralyzing than turning away from poor Agent Frederick a few minutes later in the lobby and seeing Chuck in a lifeless heap on the ground. The thought that he fainted because he'd been hurt, or…God, it all hurt too much. Even now as she neared the very same building in which it had taken place, her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her fingers were numb.

She parked along the street and got out of her car, seemingly in a daze as she thought of the implications of Chuck's actions that morning. He hadn't just warned her of impending danger as anyone else might. He hadn't stood rooted to the spot and watched in horror as she was mowed down by Rosebreen's gangsters. Chuck Bartowski tackled her to the ground, mindless of the bullets being sprayed in his direction, ignoring the fact that one of said bullets had caught him, if only barely, during the attack.

He had jumped in front of not just one bullet, but _many bullets_ , to save her life.

Sarah shook her head and opened her car door, stepping onto the street and shutting the door distractedly behind her.

Did Chuck even know what he was doing in that moment when he risked his life for her? Or did he just act on impulse? Was it an unconscious need to protect her because of his feelings for her? To think that she'd spent months protecting him, keeping him alive, and the thing that finally did him in was his trying to protect _her_. But that hadn't happened. Chuck was alive. He was okay.

And she hadn't seen him since she left him in good hands at the hospital. Truth be told, she hadn't been up to a lecture from Chuck's mother, which was extra incentive for getting the hell out of there once she ascertained that Chuck would be alright.

Sarah idly wondered how he had been the last few days. Not just if his wound was healing fine, but if he—nerdy, gangly, selfless Chuck—was okay. Was he still being his sometimes frustratingly positive self? Was he driving his family crazy by overworking himself? Was he thinking about her?

Mentally kicking herself, she hid that thought away. It wouldn't help to wonder about things like that.

She moved through the lobby of Bartowski Electronics Corporation as if in a dream, ignoring the raised eyebrow from the administrative assistant sitting behind the desk.

When Sarah stepped into the elevator, her finger automatically reached out and pressed a button and the doors slid shut. Her eyes closed as well and she leaned her head back against the wood paneled wall behind her.

He was such a damn mystery. Always throwing her off with little comments that meant more underneath than what was there on the surface, and when she least expected it. He was the only person, _the only person_ , in the entirety of her existence who had ever had that effect on her. It had driven her half mad so many nights during this damned case. How was he so good at making her brain stagger? Her heart ski— _No_.

Sarah's eyes snapped open and she rubbed a shaky hand over her mouth. She stood straight and swallowed.

There were so many sides to Chuck Bartowski. She'd seen his softer side, in which he'd seemed laid back almost to the point of malleability. Then directly thereafter he would stand up to her, argue with her, give her a hard time. And she'd seen him go from being facetious to the point of getting on her nerves, to being startlingly serious. He was charming, brave, unbelievably smart, and hilarious. He was ridiculous, nerdy, a little embarrassing sometimes…and yet she found it really adorable.

So many times, she thought she had him figured out, and she would revel in her own brilliance in the quietude of his living room as she played with the olive in her perfect martini. And then he would say something that would knock her flat on her ass again, and she would have to start over.

It was like she was staring at a puzzle. Pieces that she thought went together didn't go together at all, and what she assumed was a finished puzzle suddenly seemed like a daunting mountain of disconnected bits of cardboard instead.

Her whole life was a flurry of puzzles, and the pieces had always fit in the past. She solved cases, worked through problems, and was generally successful at just plain figuring things out.

Chuck was the one thing—the one _person_ —she just couldn't figure out. And she had never tried so hard at anything ever before in her entire life. Harvard law school had nothing on Charles Irving Bartowski, the jerk.

She bit her lip and stepped off the elevator when the doors slid open.

Could she leave a mystery unsolved? Could she leave the table with only part of the puzzle complete?

Her hand was on the doorknob of the office before she knew it and she straightened herself, putting her professional mask on her face and opening the door. Her briefcase was clutched in her hand, the proper paperwork in the topmost file. And that would be it…

Chuck looked up from whatever he was sketching, his brown eyes meeting her blue ones in less than a moment. Sarah was lost not for the first time, and she realized she hadn't been walking to Stephen Bartowski's office at all, but Chuck's.

It was the type of error one made while supremely distracted. Which, strictly speaking, seemed to be Chuck's forte. He was the only thing that distracted her so much that she might find herself somewhere she didn't mean to go, without knowing how she got there in the first place.

And that was why this was dangerous.

A wide grin exploded on Chuck's face as she slowly shut the door, keeping her eyes on his. "Sarah!" He stood up and she took in his neat but slightly scruffy appearance. He wore a nice suit, but it was unbuttoned. And his tie was loose and askew, his usually tamed curls a little wild. "Is everything okay?

"Chuck," she found herself saying. "Yes."

"I was wondering where you were. I mean, I haven't seen you and—Sarah, I'm so glad you're here."

He walked around his desk towards her and she felt unnervingly melted in light of the genuineness of his words. God, he could have said almost anything else. But no, of course not. He was Chuck.

Chuck stopped a few feet away from her and just looked at her happily.

What made him tick? Just when she thought she had it figured out, he would obliterate her theory, sometimes with just a particularly flirty tilt of his lips.

His lips.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the distance between them and gently took his face in her hands, brushing her lips against his smile tentatively. She pulled back to survey his face for only a moment, receiving nothing but a blank look, and then she moved in to press her lips onto his fully. He was obviously surprised, as she felt his body tense and heard him breathe in harshly through his nose.

He tasted like the coffee she remembered from the first morning of the case when he made her refill her cup from the fresh pot he'd just brewed in his kitchen. It was unforgettably delicious, and she couldn't deny this was just as—

All thoughts vanished.

Because Chuck awoke from his stupor, wrapped his arms around her torso, and pulled her flush against him, his lips coming alive against hers. Sarah let out a soft mew and tugged his face even closer. She took a step further into him even though she had nowhere else to go, losing all sense of where she was in the room, where she was in the world even. Chuck staggered backwards a bit, holding onto her so tightly that she went with him, until he half landed with his backside on the edge of his desktop. He grunted softly into her mouth.

Sarah kept kissing him even though he was in a precarious position, trapping his face against hers by sliding her hands around to the back of his head and tangling her fingers in his curls. She opened her mouth against his and swept her tongue over his lips, hearing a deep rumble come from his chest in response. A heady shiver swept over every last bit of her body and she liked it so much she repeated the action.

This time when she opened her mouth, he copied her, their mouths melding together even further as Sarah pressed most of her weight against him. The sensation was so unexpectedly pleasurable that she unconsciously dragged a hand over his stubbly jaw and down his neck until she got a firm grip on the length of his tie.

Chuck tilted his head and began to explore the inside of her mouth with his tongue, his hands sliding over her back and making her shiver again.

And then he moved one hand to gently cup her chin and the kiss became painfully tender.

Sarah's hands slid down against his chest, tucking beneath his jacket, before she stopped to clench her fists in the material of his shirt.

Their lips pulled apart a minute later and Sarah weakly rested her forehead against his, leaning over him as he sat on his desk. She kept her eyes closed, trying to relearn how to breathe, how to use her brain, attempting to slow her heart rate.

Something happened. In that moment when he took her chin in his hand and slowed things down, something had changed. Something had…clicked.

But she wasn't able to wrap her head around it now, because Chuck was gently dotting her lips with warm, steady kisses, and she could only respond in kind, even though a part of her was screaming she shouldn't.

And then everything came back at once, her facilities roaring to life again, her eyes snapping open. It took only a moment for her to figure out what that clicking something had been.

The last puzzle piece.

Cleanly and neatly slipping into place amongst the others, creating the full picture. The puzzle was complete. The riddle solved. The case closed.

She knew him. Understood him. She got him.

And she loved him.

As she stepped back, she took in his handsome, gaping face. His eyes were so soft, so heartbreakingly stunned and beautiful. Everything that was _him_ was there in front of her, his lips red and thoroughly kissed, his brow furrowed, his hair an absolute adorable mess. Splayed clumsily on top of his desk with his legs akimbo.

She loved him. Unabashedly. Every last piece of him.

Stepping back out of his embrace, she smoothed her hands down her front and was startled by the realization that she was smiling a little. How long had that been there without her knowing? She covered her lips with a shaky hand and just stared back at him.

Detective Sarah Walker had solved two mysteries in one day. It was quite an accomplishment, but it left her numb all over. And she thought, for just a split second, that she might cry.

"The LAPD arrested Rosebreen today. The case is closed," she said to distract herself from the rioting emotions boiling over inside of her.

"What?" he asked, blinking. "W-That's fantastic, Sarah!" He still looked completely dazed.

"Your dad," she continued. "I'm supposed to have him sign all of the paperwork. Immediately." Her voice was misleadingly strong and clear.

"Uh…" He pushed himself to stand up straight and smoothing his large hands down his front, swallowing so loudly that it reverberated throughout the room. "Of course. 'Course. Tying up loose ends."

"Tying up loose ends," she repeated.

A piece of paper suddenly fluttered off the end of his desk, startling him so badly that he jumped. She didn't laugh like she usually would have, because all she could think was that she was in love with him.

"Congratulations, Sarah Walker." His face melted into a warm, proud smile that literally made every part of her tingle.

"Thanks."

She turned and walked to the door, not looking at him for fear she might go back and kiss him again like she desperately wanted to.

"I'll see you later," he called after her, his voice still so soft and reverent, like he still couldn't believe what had happened.

Neither could she.

Sarah looked over her shoulder at him as she opened the door, taking him in. All of him. From his converse sneakers that were so strangely attractive when paired with a tailored business suit, to his kinked tie from when she'd held it so tightly, to those lips he'd just used to literally turn her world on its head.

She looked in his warm adoring eyes for longer than she meant to.

Sarah didn't say anything as she ducked out of the office and shut the door securely behind her.

As she walked down the hallway, she wondered how her legs were even functioning. She was on autopilot. And she was absolutely and thoroughly terrified out of her mind.

She loved Chuck Bartowski. And she didn't know what to do about it.

XOXOXOXO

He was weightless.

Floating.

And nothing could stop Chuck from dancing like Fred Astaire down the hallway towards his dad's office. He tap danced as best he could with canvas sneakers on the carpet, slapping his palms against the wall in a merry beat as he spun.

It made him a little dizzy, but whatever.

Nothing made him dizzier than thinking about Sarah Walker.

Because she had kissed him. _She_ kissed _him_. Granted, he made sure to thoroughly kiss her back once he realized what was happening. But the way she'd just gone all in, _literally_ knocking him on his ass. Like she'd wanted it as bad as he had.

But hadn't he known that? Weren't the signs there?

It didn't matter, he thought as he hopped into the air and landed less gracefully than he intended. Because she had kissed him. They had _kissed_. And holy hell but it was _some damn kiss_. Everything inside of him was just buzzing. He wanted to sing. He wanted to find her and run up to her and tell her he loved her.

He wouldn't, though, not yet. She wasn't the type of woman to appreciate a gesture like that. This wasn't a cheesy eighties romantic comedy. Hall & Oates wouldn't be blasting from some unseen source.

All in good time, right?

Right.

This was it, though. He felt it in his bones. The case was over. Sarah Walker, the brilliant detective, the most brilliant detective Pinkerton had, was no longer under his father's employ. She had solved the mystery, Rosebreen was arrested, and everything was alright. Better than alright. Everything was _great_.

But he had to stop. Because as much as he knew Sarah was capable of solving the case, the fact that she had done it—even with the crazy and misleading acts of the culprit, the insane twists and turns, and everything that had confused and thoroughly befuddled him—was incomprehensibly impressive. Sarah Walker was the most impressive woman— _person_ —he had ever met.

He bit his lip a little, discouraged that he hadn't the facilities to tell her how proud he was of her. And how grateful he was that she worked so hard to solve the case as quickly as she had. But that kiss had left him so muddled that he'd forgotten.

He wondered if she'd sped the case up because she was also eager to start an actual relationship with him. It was maybe a little big-headed of him to think that, but he was just so ready to finally start things. With the end of the case would come the beginning of something he knew would be amazing. Maybe even the best part of his life.

After he woke up in the hospital, he didn't see her for four days. He missed her. He would wander out to her cubicle and surreptitiously glance inside as he walked past to see if she was working there. She _must_ have used it in that time, considering the way things would move every time he looked. But he consistently timed his visits poorly.

Chuck didn't blame her. The faster the case closed, the safer his family would be. And, because he would be lying if he didn't admit this, he was so ready for Sarah. Ready for them. Ready for the casual chats and the wine on the roof, and more aikido lessons that might end differently now that they didn't have to hold anything back.

They didn't have to hold anything back.

He absently wrapped his hand around his tie where it was still a bit wrinkled from her clutching it so tightly during the kiss. A dreamy smile crossed his features as he felt the ghost of her lips against his again.

God, life was good. Life was the _best_! He loved life.

Trying not to let his imagination run away with him before he got to his father's office, just in case Sarah was still in there finishing up details, he schooled his features and cleared his throat.

It had already been two hours since the kiss, and it was still like it had just happened. He was brimming. He had to force the feeling back behind his casual mask.

And then he knocked.

His dad's voice rumbled a "Come in" and Chuck swept into the office with a subdued smile. "Hey, Dad."

Chuck's eyes surveyed the room quickly. No Sarah. She was probably debriefing with her people.

"Son! It's over!" Stephen J. Bartowski looked ready to burst with relief as he jumped up from his desk chair and hurried to Chuck, wrapping him in a tight bear hug. Chuck hugged his father back just as tightly.

"Yeah. It's over. We're safe."

Stephen pulled back and sighed in relief, running his hands over his unruly hair and shaking his head. "I cannot tell you how glad I am that this is the end. What a mess that was."

Chuck just laughed, his relief just as palpable as that which he saw in his father. "Did you call Mom and Ellie?"

"Yep. After Detective Walker had me sign off on everything, I called them both. We're celebrating tonight! What do you say?" Stephen clapped a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck winced a bit. "Uh, I've actually, uh…I've got plans tonight. If that's okay."

"You do?" His father paused, then shrugged. "Tomorrow then!"

"Tomorrow. Sounds great."

"Good."

"So…everything's over, huh? All the paperwork done?" Stephen nodded. "I told you Detective Walker was good," Chuck couldn't help saying. She was so good. So perfect.

"You're right. She did a fantastic job. And I told her that, too."

"I'm glad," Chuck said, and he was a little startled by just how glad he was. His father telling Sarah she did a fantastic job after the way he talked about her to him in the hospital was incredibly good to hear. She deserved praise. And, if he was honest, he wanted his dad to like her. He wanted everyone to like her.

"I even offered her a drink," Stephen continued. "But she said she couldn't. She would be late."

Something niggled at Chuck suddenly and he tugged a bit on the end of his suit jacket. "Late for what? She had a meeting?"

"Nope. She had a flight to catch. Back to…wherever it is she was going. She didn't tell me."

The earth shifted under Chuck's feet and he felt like he was falling for a moment. He surreptitiously reached a hand out to steady himself against the back of the nearby chair. "A f-flight? She left?"

"Yep! Right after I signed everything. She looked like she was in a hurry. They must really work their people to the bone, those Pinkertons…"

Chuck didn't hear anything else his father said with the way the blood was rushing through his ears, and he thought he might just fall into a heap at his father's feet.

Because Sarah Walker was gone.

"I'll see you later" he had said before she walked out of his office. She hadn't answered because she knew that wasn't going to be the case. When she walked out of that door, she was walking out of his life, too.

A sharp pain rocketed through his chest as realization crashed over him. He would never see her again. He knew it. She had changed his life, made him whole, given him something to hold on to, and then she disappeared into thin air. Like a ghost.

He could go after her. Pinkerton's main location was Chicago. He could find her. Ask her what the hell her problem was. Why she'd left without even saying goodbye.

But what was the point? She left. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Chuck tried so hard not to feel lost in that moment, incredibly hurt and just plain downtrodden. His heart was literally shattered into a billion pieces and he had to swallow repeatedly to keep from letting out the pitiful sound he felt rising in his throat. "Dad, I'm really tired now that this is all over." The word 'over' left a terrible taste in his mouth. "Think I'm gonna head home and sleep for a bit."

"Good idea, son. You okay?" His father narrowed his eyes in concern.

_No. Never again._

"Yeah. Just so tired. And relieved." And incredibly heartbroken. So much so that he felt a little sick.

"Alright, bud. You get some rest. I'm proud of you."

Chuck just nodded with a sickly smile and swept out of the room. As he stepped into the hallway, he held his head with both hands and shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. With a shake of his head, he straightened again, let out a shaky breath, and walked down the hallway towards the elevator. He needed a drink.

He needed one hundred drinks.

He needed a minor case of alcohol poisoning.

Anything but a martini.

End.


	16. The Tech Guy Tells Uncle Morgan Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after leaving you readers on a pretty awful note at the end of our first arc, dettiot and I decided to create an epic build up to what I’m sure many of you are waiting for. This is the beginning of that epic build up. And does she ever start it with a bang! (That bang is the sound of Morgan dropping his Benihana knife. AHH!)

A steady, rhythmic knocking finally penetrated Chuck Bartowski’s hazy consciousness. Pulling himself off the couch, he shuffled to the door and opened it, not bothering to check the peephole. For a moment, he was back on that first morning, when a beautiful Pinkerton agent was waiting outside his door to inspect his apartment and protect him. In the back of his head, he could hear her voice telling him how reckless he was being for not checking to see who was on the other side of the door.

But over the last two months, he had gotten very good at ignoring Sarah Walker’s voice in his head. 

“Chuck! I’m back!” 

Morgan Grimes, his oldest friend in the world, beamed up at Chuck. His beard was neatly trimmed, his skin was very tan, and his eyes were bright and alive. 

In short, he was the complete opposite of how Chuck looked now. But just seeing Morgan made Chuck’s spirits lift a little. 

“Buddy!” he said, hugging Morgan for a long moment and then taking a step back. “I thought you weren’t getting back until next week!”

“I know, but I had finished my coursework and was just cooling my jets in Hawaii when your sister called me.” At the mere mention of Ellie, Morgan’s face got his usual blissful smile, but it quickly faded. “She said she was worried about you. And now that I’m seeing you, I’m surprised she didn’t call me sooner.” 

Chuck frowned a little and turned, heading towards the kitchen. “I’m fine, Morgan.” 

“She said you’ve been ducking out on family events, pulling all-nighters, showing up at the office looking like Grizzly Adams--” 

“Grizzly Adams? Really?” Chuck ran a hand over the thick stubble on his jaw. Yeah, sure, he’d gotten a little lax with shaving lately, but it wasn’t that bad. 

“Really. She said she was convinced a squirrel was nesting in your beard.” 

He whirled around. “What?!?”

Morgan held his hands up. “I know, I know. Ellie’s overreacting. But buddy, it took me twelve seconds to see that something is definitely wrong.” 

With a deep sigh, Chuck finished walking to the kitchen and started some coffee. “It’s a long story. You missed a lot with running off to Hawaii to become a Benihana chef.” 

“I’m sorry, man, but--” Morgan’s voice was truly apologetic and sincere. But Chuck couldn’t let his best friend feel guilty for following his dreams.

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” Chuck said, cutting him off. He ran a hand through his hair, then winced at the feel of the oily strands. “I did this to myself. You being here would have helped, but I don’t think anyone could have stopped it.” 

His best friend nodded. “Have a seat,” he said, navigating Chuck down onto one of the stools by the counter. “When was the last time you ate?”

Chuck shrugged. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Morgan said. “Well, I’m gonna make you an omelet, and you’re gonna drink some coffee, and we’ll talk about what the hell happened to you.” 

“You just got back--you must be tired--” 

Morgan turned around as he tightened the strings on the apron he had just donned. “Hush!” he said, picking up a rubber spatula and lightly smacking it against Chuck’s knuckles. “I’m here and you are going to tell Uncle Morgan everything.” He gave Chuck a firm nod and then got to work.

Watching Morgan bustle around his kitchen and pull out his Benihana knives to chop up vegetables, Chuck realized just how much he had missed his best friend. Missed having someone to talk to, missed having someone who was always on his side. Not that he didn’t have plenty of people in his life to talk to, but . . . but it’d take someone special to be able to hear the whole story of this heartbreaking summer and understand it. 

“I don’t hear any talking,” Morgan said, plopping a cup of coffee in front of Chuck. 

He picked up the cup and took a long sip, savoring the warm richness of the caffeinated brew. “Okay. It all started when Mr. Gerheart got killed. Dad thought the LAPD had caught the killer, but I wasn’t so sure. I pressured him into hiring a detective agency.” Chuck paused and steeled himself to keep going. “And they sent a woman named Sarah Walker.”

XOXOXOXO

“I don’t understand,” Morgan said, his forehead wrinkled. 

Chuck looked up from his second omelet and fourth piece of toast. Once he had started eating, he had been surprised by just how hungry he was. “What don’t you understand?”

Morgan got up and began chopping up some fruit, cutting off the soft spots and piling the remaining slices in a bowl. “So this Sarah, you think she’s beautiful. She’s really smart. She can kick your ass and she kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before . . . and you haven’t gone to find her?” 

“You left out I’m in love with her,” Chuck said, a bit glumly as he nibbled on his toast. 

“Yeah, okay, you’re in love with her. And again, you just let her walk out of your life like that? Stand you up for a date you thought you both had been looking forward to?” Morgan shook his head. “Chuck, buddy, that’s not like you.” 

His best friend was right. He was no Adonis, no George Clooney. But he knew that he was smart and most people thought he was funny. Plus, there was his martini-making skills. All in all, Chuck Bartowski was a good guy. A guy people seemed to like. So he’d never felt shy about putting himself out there, trying to make a connection with someone who seemed interesting and fun to be with. Add in the fact that he was stubborn and determined, and he’d never let someone walk away from him with no explanation. 

But it was different with Sarah. Because he thought she liked him. More than liked him, hopefully. There had been such a spark between them, something nurtured by all those long talks, by all the drinks they’d shared together, by the mystery and danger. But right when it was the perfect time to fan the spark into flames, she had left. 

Poking at the last bit of his omelet, Chuck said softly, “My heart’s never been broken before. Not like this, Morgan. She just left, and . . . and it makes me think I misjudged everything. That it was only me falling in love. And it was bad enough having her not show up for our date. Say I go find her and ask her what happened. Get her to tell me how she felt.” He lifted his head and gazed at Morgan. “If she rejects me to my face, I--I don’t think I could take that, buddy.” 

“But wouldn’t it be better than not knowing?” Morgan said, pulling away his plate and putting the bowl of fruit in front of him. “To know, so you could move on?” 

“That seems like small comfort right now, Morgan.” To have something to do, Chuck lifted his fork and speared a piece of strawberry, eating it slowly. 

“Dude, you’re stuck. You’re in the relationship equivalent of couch lock. You don’t know how this Sarah, whoever she is, really felt about you ‘cause you never really asked her--I didn’t hear anything about you two talking about your feelings. It was all looking into each other’s eyes and feeling ‘a spark,’” he said, using his fingers to indicate air quotes. “And you’ve spent the last two months moping instead of trying to figure out why she didn’t show up.” Morgan frowned. “I hate to say this, buddy, but this doesn’t sound like love to me.” 

A rush of anger swept over Chuck. He opened his mouth to lash out, to ask Morgan just when he’d become an expert on love and relationships, but then, thank God, a tiny scrap of logic and reason made him shut his mouth and think. Really think, for the first time in days. 

It was true. He’d never said anything to Sarah that came close to stating his feelings for her. He’d held back, telling himself it was because she worked for his father. But it was really because he was scared. Scared of putting himself out there, of risking his heart like this even though the reward could be beyond all description. 

The kiss, as hot and passionate and wonderful as it was . . . it was just physical. He should have said the words. Said just how amazing she was, how impressed he was by her, how much he wanted to get to know her, really know her. For all that Sarah knew, he could have just wanted sex with her. And even though his whole body recoiled at the thought that her impression of him was so wrong, it was possible she had gotten that impression. 

And just how would a relationship between them work? With her job, traveling all over the country, and him based in LA? Even with the connection he felt between them, there was so much about her that he didn’t know. What were the chances that they’d work out, especially when it would be a long distance relationship? 

Chuck felt his mind whirling. He was really glad he was sitting down. And that he hadn’t dismissed Morgan’s words. Because he was pretty sure he had just reached a state of clarity. 

“Okay there, Chuck?” Morgan’s voice was worried. That, more than his words, broke Chuck out of his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at his friend. 

“Yeah--yeah, I’m okay. I just . . . God, I messed up. And I don’t know how to fix things.” 

Morgan reached out and rested a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “You’re Chuck Bartowski. You’ll fix it. You’ll figure out a way to get in touch with Sarah and tell her how you feel, and then you can see how she responds. And if she’s a human woman at all, she’ll realize what she’d be passing up if she turns down Charles Irving Bartowski.” 

His smile was so wide and encouraging, his eyes so full of support. This was what Chuck had missed this summer. The feeling that he could do anything, even if it was a misguided feeling. Because he was pretty sure if he was going to convince Sarah Walker to give him a real chance, he’d need all the confidence and courage he could find. 

End.


End file.
